


Gone to Ashes

by cynical21



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 206,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical21/pseuds/cynical21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Sith Lord loses his dark apprentice, he must look elsewhere for a new victim</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It may start in a familiar place, but it will rapidly diverge from there, finding its way into darkness. Be afraid; be very afraid.

* * * * * * * * * *  
Chapter 1  


Soon, only embers would remain. Embers that would quickly cool, leaving only ashes. Obi-Wan imagined that he could taste the bitterness on his tongue, as he reflected on the transient nature of life.  


We all come to this, he mused. Great or small.  


He suddenly imagined a fine drift of ash trailing through his fingers, as he remembered the physical magnificence of his fallen master. It was incongruous that the one could be so quickly transformed into the other, and that the fierce spirit which had driven that powerful flesh could be lost now in the vastness of the Force.  


That thought, he realized abruptly, was not exactly chapter and verse of Jedi philosophy, which stressed that no sentience was ever really lost in the Force. But Obi-Wan wasn't having much luck accessing the Force today, and he wasn't supposed to believe in luck either. But he had found himself looking at many things from a slightly different perspective recently. A very slight smile touched his lips, in marked contrast to the dark anguish still smoldering in his eyes, as he wondered if he had somehow absorbed some fraction of his master's renegade attitudes in those desperate final moments of the Jedi Master's life.  


The rotunda was almost empty now; most of those who had come to honor the fallen Jedi had departed some time ago. But Obi-Wan waited patiently. Once the last flames died away, it would be his privilege to gather the ashes and decide how to dispose of them; to place them in a suitable container for transport to the Jedi Temple or to spread them on the wind, in a location of his choosing. He had not yet made up his mind.  


He glanced down at the boy who knelt beside him, and was not surprised to find that Anakin had finally given in to his exhaustion and fallen asleep, his small body slumped awkwardly against the wall. With the gentlest of Force manipulation, Obi-Wan rearranged the child's limbs and curled him into a fetal position, with his head cradled against a folded arm, before removing his own cloak and draping it over the child. Anakin sighed softly, but did not stir.  


Across the bier of embers, Masters Yoda and Mace Windu stood motionless, among other members of the Jedi Council, all deep in meditation, their features serene and ageless. Still, when Obi-Wan reached out through the Force, he sensed tendrils of such intense grief that even such venerable masters could not completely conceal it. Master Windu's Force signature was particularly strong, and particularly heavy-laden; he and Qui-Gon had been dear friends for many years. And just as the recognition of this touched Obi-Wan's consciousness, he saw Yoda's huge, crystalline eyes slowly open, and meet his own gaze, with more gentleness and compassion than he had ever experienced from any master other than his own.  


 _Weep not, brave child._ The Force signature of the tiny master was unmistakable. _At peace, he is._  


Obi-Wan offered no response, beyond a slight nod. In truth, he thought himself incapable of response, for he seemed to lack the energy with which to formulate or send one.  


Off to his left sat the only remaining local participants in this solemn rite. Amidala, queen of Naboo, and Sabé, her chief bodyguard. In the conviction that the queen had suffered quite enough during recent days, Obi-Wan had earlier encouraged her to retire to get some rest, but she had resisted his suggestion. And Sabé, when he had approached her with the same idea, had simply looked at him with characteristic annoyance. He had been tempted to use some measure of Jedi compulsion on them, but, in the end, had chosen to respect their wish to be there, for him and for his master.  


Weariness hovered around Obi-Wan like a cloak, serving to isolate him to some small degree, from the world around him and even from his normal sensitivity to the Force. Otherwise, he might have sensed some small remnant of the dark energy that continually swirled around him, no matter how skillfully shielded its origin.  


~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  


 _Kenobi._ The name was like a curse, laced with malice. _Kenobi and Kenobi and Kenobi!_  


For as long as he could remember, Kenobi had been a dagger in his mind, and a cold, bottomless rage gripped him now as he contemplated the loss of his apprentice. It shouldn't have happened; Maul should have been able to consign Kenobi to the deepest pits of the Netherworld.  


Sidious had to focus his formidable will on not destroying everything around him in the expression of his rage. He moved now like a dark miasma through the grounds beneath the rotunda where that fool, Qui-Gon Jinn, was currently being reduced to ashes. At least, he could take some small consolation in the demise of the Jedi Master, for , in truth, it had been Jinn who contributed to the foiling of his initial plans for a very young, very small, very vulnerable Obi-Wan Kenobi, although, much to his chagrin, not quite so vulnerable as he had initially believed.  


The Sith closed his eyes and visualized the child that Kenobi had been. By the Force, he had been a thing of beauty - so overflowing with latent power that Sidious had experienced it as physical arousal. And the dark lord had almost attained his goal, had almost captured the boy and taken him for his own, thus nullifying the vision that had plagued him for so long - the vision of Kenobi initiating the action that would bring about the demise of the Sith. He had never been able to determine exactly what that action was, or determine when it would happen, but he knew it was inevitable, unless - oh, yes - unless Kenobi could be turned to the dark side or, failing that, destroyed in his youth.  


But Jinn had interfered. It would be many years later that the Jedi Master would take the boy as his Padawan, but Fate had seemed to take a hand in tying the two together. Jinn had been the Jedi knight who had been there to retrieve the 5-year-old child from the mean streets of Coruscant, following his astonishing escape from the professional mercenaries who had abducted him from the Jedi Temple. There had been other opportunities over the years, but, somehow, Jinn had always been there to prevent the carefully crafted plans from coming to fruition. And now, with the boy grown to manhood, Sidious was no longer entirely confident of his ability to turn the young Jedi to the darkside.  


He thought again about how Kenobi had stared at the body of his fallen master, his eyes haunted and empty, and a snarl rose in his throat as he felt a stir in his loins. By the Force, the little bastard was still beautiful, and Sidious took no small pleasure in imagining the infinite ways in which he could use the young man's body for his own amusement.  


But first, the boy would have to be turned, and that was no longer such a simple task as it would have been those many years ago. Should that prove to be impossible, then Kenobi would simply have to be destroyed. Sidious allowed himself a small smile, once more picturing that strong, young body; the destruction itself could provide many hours of stimulus and exhilaration.  


Then, of course, there was the new possibility - the Skywalker boy. Infiltrating the Jedi Temple had not proven to be a simple task, but he had managed it nonetheless, and had known, almost as soon as the Jedi Council itself, of Jinn's most intriguing discovery. Not that he necessarily trusted the Jedi Master's conclusions, but the child would certainly merit further study. It was Kenobi he wanted - had always wanted; to himself, he even admitted that it was Kenobi he lusted for, but, should that goal prove unattainable, it would be prudent to have a contingency plan. And the Sith was nothing if not prudent. It had kept him undetected by the despised Jedi for the better part of a century, and it would continue to serve him now. He would even manage to be cordial to Kenobi, when it was unavoidable, and conceal, beneath a veneer of political urbanity, the dark, blood-rich thoughts which assailed him every time he looked at the young Jedi.  


Still, it was time he formulated a plan of action to realize his desires. The young knight would not fall into the Sith's eager hands unless he was "helped" to do so. And Sidious thought he might just have the beginning of an idea of how to accomplish his ends. The lovely young queen of Naboo and her bevy of nubile handmaidens had provided the inspiration. It was a pity that neither Amidala herself, nor her chief handmaiden, seemed to be vulnerable to his manipulation, at least not in the long term. It was a simple matter for him to interpret the Jedi's gestures and body language, and determine that Kenobi had a definite weak spot for both of the young women. But Amidala had proven to be a great deal stronger than Sidious had given her credit for, and the handmaiden was as watchful and suspicious as a mother bantha in her surveillance of both her royal charge and the newly-minted Jedi knight. He would not dismiss the possibility out of hand, but he recognized it as an extreme long shot. Sidious found it extremely amusing that Kenobi appeared to be unaware that the handmaiden had appointed herself as his interim protector during the period of his mourning. Indeed, the only person more concerned with Kenobi's welfare appeared to be the Skywalker child, and his concerns were grounded in worries for his own future.  


The handmaiden's reason for concern was patently obvious in the way she looked at Kenobi when he was unaware of her scrutiny. Sidious was always amused at how frequently young humans insisted on seeing the nobility of love where there was really only the commonality of lust. Still, it might prove interesting to inhabit the girl's mind for a few hours, in order to assuage his own needs, not to mention his insatiable curiosity about the young Jedi. But it would be a transitory pleasure at most, taking the edge off his hunger, but providing little in the way of genuine sustenance. No. For Kenobi, something better was required. Something more intense and, ultimately, more permanent. But the germ of the idea had formed, and would grow and flower as he allowed it time to mature. He would have Kenobi, one way or the other.  


He looked up and saw that the flicker of flame in the rotunda was very faint now. The deed was almost done. With a satisfied smile, the dark lord stretched out his hand toward a very large, very old macaranth tree, heavy-laden with blush pink blossoms. The massive old tree seemed to shudder and shrink away from him, its delicate beauty abruptly devoured by an explosively cancerous blight. The tree was dead; it died between one breath and the next. It had lived for almost 300 years and died in a heartbeat.  


Sidious allowed himself a small cackle of laughter, and once more pictured Kenobi in his mind. _Sweet little padawan. You have no idea of the delights I have in store for you_. His smile vanished. 

Or the torment you will know if you reject me.

  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  


Obi-Wan stood at the railing on the terrace outside the rotunda and gazed out toward the misted waterfall that fell away from the palace grounds.

"A decision, you have reached," said the diminutive Jedi master at his side.

Obi-Wan nodded. "He wouldn't want to be locked away in the Temple. I want to take him back to Ragoon 6. The Force is strong there, rich with variety and teeming with life. And he had good memories there, of Tahl and, I hope, of me."

"It would be a short detour on our way back to Coruscant," said Mace Windu, as he joined them at the railing.

"No," said Obi-Wan, polite but firm. "This I must do alone. I'll take a headhunter, while Anakin returns to the Temple with you. It should only take a day or so."

Yoda hesitated briefly before nodding his agreement, then lifted his eyes to gaze at the newly-created knight. His expression was the same as always, yet Obi-Wan sensed an uncharacteristic disquiet in the Master's demeanor.

"What do you see, Master?" he asked softly, unease shadowing his eyes.

"A darkness around you hovers, Obi-Wan," said Yoda, his voice somehow more soothing than his normal brusque tone. "Its source, I cannot determine, but there, it is. Great care, you must take now. Great, your burden now is."

Obi-Wan sighed, and refused to entertain skittering thoughts about the endless progression of uncertainties in his mind.

"Too big, you have grown," groused the tiny Master. "Kneel, you will, so see your face, I can, without breaking my neck."

With a tiny smile, Obi-Wan complied.

Displaying a degree of gentleness that surprised the young knight, Yoda laid his small hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Ready, you are, young Padawan. Be mindful of what you have been taught, and be not afraid to ask for help when you need it. But believe in yourself, you must. Believe in you, your Master did, and trust in your goodness. As do I. So must you."

Obi-Wan managed, somehow, not to dissolve in new tears, but one did escape his control and trace a path down his cheek. Amazingly, Yoda reached up and wiped it away with infinite tenderness. "Love him, we both did," he murmured, "but let him go, you must. Distracted now, you must not be."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, Master."

WHACK! Yoda wielded his gimmer stick with a vengeance, and Obi-Wan's knee smarted accordingly. "Don't 'Yes, Master' me, young one. An automatic response is not enough. Think, you must. Be wary, you must. The Force will be with you, but to hear its message, listen you must."

Obi-Wan limited his response to a nod, figuring it was the surest way to stay out of more trouble.

Yoda spent a silent moment studying the young knight's face, before giving a sharp nod, apparently content with what he saw. He then did a most un-Yoda-like thing, and caressed Obi-Wan's cheek with one clawed digit. When he spoke, it was for Obi-Wan's hearing only. "Make him proud, you did. Brought him back to the land of the living. Saved him from the darkness. Everything else was taken from him; you, he could not lose."

And it was finally too much. Obi-Wan lowered his head and let the tears flow freely, as Yoda stroked the fine, soft burnished copper of his hair.

Wordlessly, the ancient Jedi Master made his exit, Mace Windu at his side, leaving young Kenobi to pull himself together.

"What a troll!" Sabé, as always, went straight to the heart of the matter, making no allowances for anything.

Obi-Wan just smiled. "It's his way."

"Yeah? Well, his way . . ."

"Sabé," said Amidala sharply, "give it a rest, please."

"Excuse me," said the handmaiden, completely undeterred. "He hit him with a stick. How is that acceptable?"

"He's been doing the same thing - probably with the same stick - for 800 years. We don't appear to be any the worse for it." Obi-Wan rubbed his knee with a rueful grimace.  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The murmur of young voices followed the two Jedi Masters as they made their way down the spiral staircase to the landing below, and Mace Windu cast speculative glances at Master Yoda, waiting for him to break the silence. Windu knew there was something bothering the tiny Master; they had known each other too long for him to be unaware. But he also knew that, whatever it was, Yoda was loathe to speak of it.

Finally, with a deep inhalation, Windu decided to force the issue. "You don't like what you sense, Master Yoda. Perhaps sharing it will lighten the load."

Yoda paused, and looked down at the ground, but it was obvious that he was seeing something far beyond the moment. When he spoke, there was a great weight of weariness in his voice. "Vigilant, we must be, my Friend. Much danger lies before us."

"You have doubts about Obi-Wan?"

"No doubts have I about his powers or his purity." 

"Then what?"

Yoda looked up, and Windu winced at the depth of anguish in those ancient eyes. "Obi-Wan must not be turned, Mace. On this, everything depends. If there is no other way to prevent it, destroyed he must be."

Windu was obviously skeptical. "Obi-Wan would never turn."

"Not willingly," the tiny Master agreed, "but unknowable is the future. Who can be sure what lies in wait?"

"He won't turn." Mace was insistent now; he would not believe that the Padawan of his closest friend would betray everything his Master had taught him.

Yoda nodded. "The Force is strong in him. Hope we must, that it is enough."

As the tiny Master shuffled away, Mace Windu stood for a moment, deep in thought. His eyes rose to scan the brilliant sweep of stars above him, and he could almost believe that he felt a presence in the darkness, waiting for his attention.  


_Old Friend-if you're here, watch over your Padawan. If the troll fears for him, much as I hate to admit it, you know there has to be a solid reason. I'll do my best to keep an eye on him,but I think you've got the better vantage point._

There was no answer, of course, beyond a stirring of the wind through the trees in the garden. But Windu was comforted nonetheless, and followed his companion with a lighter heart.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

An easy ambiance had settled over the small group on the terrace, as they waited the demise of the last flames. The Jedi and the two young women realized that, though they had endured high drama and valiant endeavor together, they knew virtually nothing of each other's normal lives, and they talked now of mundane matters and the minutiae of living. Obi-Wan listened to the comfortable exchanges between Amidala and her primary bodyguard, and recognized that the two were much more than just employer/employee or guard/guarded; they were dear friends, and he discovered that he liked them both much more than he had expected to. For their parts, the young women found him articulate, diffident, warm and completely charming. Amidala had to control a desire to make a face at Sabé, who was almost literally purring like a contented feline.

A sudden swell in the Force alerted Obi-Wan just bare moments before a heart-stopping shriek fractured the peace of the evening. The young knight was through the arched doorway into the rotunda before the scream trailed off. As he approached Anakin, who was thrashing convulsively on the floor, he found his progress impeded by a Force barrier, apparently generated by the boy's subconscious mind as he struggled in the fierce grasp of nightmare. His scream dwindled into a broken sequence of disjointed cries, and Obi-Wan had to force himself to stand still long enough to marshal his strength sufficiently to penetrate the barrier. Most of the boy's words were meaningless mumbles, but Obi-Wan discerned the repetition of his own name quite clearly.

Finally managing to control his own inner turmoil enough to achieve the necessary level of calm, the young Jedi reached out and parted the Force barrier as if opening a curtain. Instantly, Anakin was in his arms, his body convulsing as if in a seizure. Though apparently awake enough to register Obi-Wan's presence, his mind still seemed to be locked in the terror of his dream. "You can't go," he cried. "You can't go, Obi-Wan. Watch the dark. It's coming for you."

"Ani," Obi-Wan said loudly, shaking the child gently. "Ani, wake up. You're dreaming. Wake up."

Shadowed blue eyes opened wide, and stared at something only Anakin could see. "Stay back. Get away." Obi-Wan was suddenly aware of a growing tremor in the Force as Anakin stiffened in his grasp.

"Anakin, you have to wake up." Obi-Wan's voice with threaded with desperation now, as he shook the child again, more forcefully. Something - he struggled for words to describe it - dark and raw and primitive seemed to hover around them, causing the night to thicken and lower.

"Obi-Wan," cried the boy. "Help . . . "

The young Jedi placed his hands firmly on either side of Anakin's face and pulled the child up against him until their foreheads were pressed together.

"Anakin, hear me," he said, injecting his command with the power of the Force. "You will waken, _now_."

And, as quickly and simply as that, the menace and power that had twisted around the two were gone, swept away in the bright strength of Obi-Wan's union with the Force.

Anakin gasped and threw his arms around the young knight's neck. "You can't go," he sobbed. "Promise me you won't go."

"Ani," whispered Obi-Wan, hands gently stroking the child's back, "it was just a dream. Everything's all right."

But Anakin was having none of it. Dream or not - he knew what he knew. "Promise me," he insisted, his face buried against Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"OK. OK. Whatever. I promise."

Slowly, reluctantly, the boy detached himself and peered up into the face of the Master that he had only just begun to know, trying to read what he saw in those sea-change eyes.

"I guess I'm acting like a baby, huh?" he said softly, embarrassed now by his outburst.

Obi-Wan realized that he must act now to assure that communication between the two of them would remain open and without constriction. "You're acting like what you are, Anakin. A child. How would you act differently? It's what you should do - what I expect you to do." He made sure the boy was looking him straight in the eye. "It's what I want you to do. How can we learn from each other, if we're not honest with each other? You must never be afraid to tell me your thoughts or your feelings. Understand?"

The sheen of tears transformed blue/gray eyes to azure-washed silver as the child smiled. "Yes . . ." he hesitated briefly, "Master." The word obviously didn't come naturally to him, but he seemed to take some measure of comfort from it.

For his part, Obi-Wan managed to stifle his gasp of surprise. _Who, me?_ he thought sharply.

He looked up and found Queen Amidala studying his face with a sympathetic smile. _Yes, you._ He heard it clearly, and made a mental note to speak to the queen later about her own surprising Force abilities.

Obi-Wan rubbed his hand through Anakin's shaggy hair and smiled. "Maybe we should do something to commemorate our new relationship."

Anakin tried-without complete success-to avoid looking suspicious. "Like what?"

Obi-Wan grinned. "How about a haircut?"

Anakin reached out and touched the braid that still coiled around Obi-Wan's throat, despite his recent promotion, and his eyes posed a silent question.

Obi-Wan's smile faltered and died as he struggled to find a response. "It would have been my Master's privilege to cut it. I haven't . . ." He stopped, suddenly choked with a renewed sense of desolation, then began again. "I haven't decided how to do it yet."

Anakin moved his hand to his young master's shoulder. "I could do it," he said, so softly Obi-Wan had to strain to hear. The Jedi put his arms around the boy and pulled him close. He had not only heard the words the child had spoken, but the fear of rejection that lay beneath them and the depth of courage it had required to voice them in spite of the fear.

"So you could," he said gently. "Did you know that there are strands of Qui-Gon's hair woven into my braid? And when I braid yours, I'll join parts of mine to it. Can you guess what it means?"

Anakin pondered for a brief moment. "That what Qui-Gon taught you, you will teach me?"

Obi-Wan nodded. It was a very elementary description of an extremely complex process, but it would do for now.

"Very good, Padawan."

Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat as he watched Anakin's reaction to the term; the Nubian sun which would rise in a few hours would glow no more brightly than the child's eyes as he realized what Obi-Wan had called him.

Masking the depth of his feeling by clearing his throat, Obi-Wan turned to look at the funeral bier. _Ashes._ He fought to avoid plunging back into the depths of depression. _Nothing left now but ashes._

"Give me a few minutes, Ani," he said in a near whisper, "and we'll have our own little ritual to begin our new life. Right now, I need to finish with the old one."

Anakin's smile was only slightly tremulous.

As the young knight rubbed the back of his hand across his face, in a timeless gesture of weariness, Amidala appeared at his side, bearing a small urn. It was a matter of moments to access the Force and transfer the ashes into the container. He refused to dwell on how insubstantial it all seemed.

As he covered the urn, he glanced up at the queen's face and surprised a peculiar expression there, a shadow in her eyes that was almost fearful.

"What?" he whispered, concerned for her safety.

"It's nothing," she replied.

Instantly, Sabé was beside her. "It's not nothing," she retorted. "It's weird."

Obi-Wan took a moment to look over at Anakin who had wandered out to the terrace. 

"What's weird?"

Amidala though seemed reluctant to speak.

"Padmé, he needs to know," the handmaiden insisted, though still speaking softly.

The queen glanced uneasily toward Anakin. "When Ani was having his nightmare, did you feel anything strange?"

"Strange?" he echoed. "Nothing beyond the obvious. He had a pretty impressive Force tantrum going on there."

Sabe grabbed his arm and pulled him to a spot at the foot of the stone bier. Wordlessly, she pointed at the base of the structure.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. The rough textured stone floor was bisected by a jagged crevasse that stretched from the bier all the way across the room to the base of the inner wall, and then seemed to climb the wall for a distance of a couple of meters.

"That," said Sabe, "is a hell of a lot more than a Force tantrum. That is one big phregging crack, and it scares the daylights out of me. How did he do that?"

Obi-Wan's voice was cold. "We don't know that he did, and you will not frighten him. Understand?"

But Sabé was - well, Sabé, and Qui-Gon Jinn could not have intimidated her, much less a newly promoted knight with whom she had spent a number of extremely intimate hours. "Do not try your Jedi mind tricks with me, Kenobi. You're wasting your time. I have no intention of doing anything to scare him; the gods only know how he'd react. But you better get ready for trouble, _Master_ ," - she laced the title with sarcasm - "because you just might have a cyclone by the tail."

With that, the handmaiden spun on her heel and made a dramatic exit from the rotunda, no doubt fully aware that high dudgeon sat extremely well on her features. Sabé was one of those rare creatures who positively blossomed under the influence of blind rage.

"Volatile," said Obi-Wan to the queen, "isn't she?"

Amidala grinned. "You have no idea."

He gestured toward the crack in the floor. "Sorry. We seem to have broken your floor."

The grin became a chuckle.

"What?"

"I don't know if Theed can survive the presence of the Jedi. You guys are dangerous. You don't go in for half-measures in anything. Other people break teacups or lamps or windows, maybe. You guys break buildings."

His smile was short-lived as he reached over to recover the urn which held his master's ashes. Abruptly, the queen put her arms around him and pressed her lips against his jaw. "It's going to be all right, Obi-Wan. You're going to be fine."

He stifled a sigh and returned her embrace with exquisite gentleness, then pulled away to regard her with the barest hint of a smile. "I don't think we're the dangerous ones," he said softly.

"Meaning?" She was obviously puzzled.

"We break buildings," he admitted. "You guys break hearts."

The queen laughed with him, but there was a faint suggestion of speculation in her eyes that the young knight did not see.

And neither of them noticed that Anakin had approached and stood watching them from the shadows, his face pale and still. Something touched him for a moment, a sense of foreboding, a breath of destiny, but, like any nine-year-old boy, he dismissed it as a chill wind, never noting that the leaves of the trees below the terrace hung dark and motionless.

Something tugged at Obi-Wan's consciousness as well - the faintest nuance of unease - but this day had held too much unlimited emotion for him, and he ignored the vague signal. He had felt too much through too many long hours, and he wished only to feel nothing, for just a little while. He looked over at Anakin, and refrained from sighing, only by virtue of a massive effort. Weary or not, there were still tasks to complete, before he could surrender to the blissful refuge of sleep.

* * * * * * * * 

Through all the long years of memory, the initiate had waited in obscurity, always hoping, but never quite believing that a day of destiny would come to put an end to the interminable wait. In all those long seasons, lessons had been taught and learned, then retaught and reinforced. Thus, despite the possibility that this day was - finally - _the_ day, there was no great uprush of emotion, no loss of control to create measurable tremors in the Force. It was not serenity, as the Jedi knew it; it was rather a deadly patience, that measured life and time in increments of ends achieved and all in the quest of one goal - the mastery of the dark, blood-rich irresistible power of the Force.

Sidious studied the figure crouched before him, his eye betraying nothing of his thoughts. No nuance of a smile revealed his satisfaction in the perfect fit of this initiate for the task ahead.

"You understand . . ." his voice was heavy with passion, "there can be no mistakes. You must move with infinite care. Slowly. Surely. Examining every step before committing yourself. This will be no quick strike, but an extended siege. I have devoted a lifetime to achieving our desires; you may be required to do the same. Fortunately, though I am unable to see exactly when he performs the act which causes our downfall, I _can_ see that he is no longer a young man when it happens. We, therefore, have plenty of time. You will use all that is necessary to reach our goal."

"I understand, my Master." The response was a hoarse whisper.

Sidious examined the dark, sleek head that was no more than a silhouette in the shadows of the darkened chamber. "You must be constantly on your guard. His powers are considerable, and he will attempt to seduce you with the light."

"He will fail, Master."

"Do not underestimate him," he said sharply. "You will be under his influence for a very long time, and he is a formidable adversary. Do not allow him to . . ." now his thin lips formed a venal smile, "grow on you."

"No, Master."

A speculative gleam arose in the Sith's hooded eyes. Perhaps there was a way to augment the initiate's shielding, to increase the odds against the young Jedi learning the truth, before it was too late for him to escape the snare being laid for him. One could not, after all, betray what one did not consciously know.

Sidious smiled, and closed the distance between them , reaching out to lift the chin of the initiate. "He will go from here to Ragoon 6, then on to the Jedi Temple. You will be ready for him when he arrives."

"Yes, Master."

The Sith lord's breath seemed to hiss from his body as he bent forward. "You wish to succeed my fallen apprentice. You must prove yourself worthy. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Master. Allow me prove myself."

"You will be but one weapon among many. Nevertheless," Sideous closed his eyes and shuddered with anticipation, "service me," he commanded. "Please me, and you shall have your chance."

The initiate merely nodded and moved to obey. As pale hands reached out to grasp the Master's robes, all the ambient light in the dim chamber seemed to pool in deep-set eyes that glowed with the luster of aged brandy.

Sidious surrendered his body to the skilled ministrations of his would-be apprentice and augmented his pleasure by imagining that it was Obi-Wan Kenobi laboring so diligently to bring him to physical gratification. At the last, as he lost himself in his release, it was Kenobi's name that he cried out.

* * * * * * * * * * *  
tbc


	2. Chapter 2

* * * * *

Chapter 2

"Did you hear something?" asked Amidala, her eyes sweeping the gardens beyond the balcony railing.

Obi-Wan allowed his weary body to drop bonelessly into a plush lounger adjacent to the wide glass doors leading into the palace. "Hear what?"

"Someone shouted something, I think."

The young knight took a moment to listen intently, but heard nothing beyond the customary night noises of the city. "Probably just some late revelers. On their way home to bed, where you should be."

She turned to smile at him. "You really don't have to watch over me, you know. I don't think it's part of your job description to monitor my bedtime."

He favored her with a lop-sided grin. "Just my nursemaid complex kicking in, I guess. We've cost you a lot of sleep in the last few days."

Her eyes wandered to the length of braid that still dangled from his hand. When Anakin had closed the sheers that severed it, she had almost imagined he felt physical pain from the cut. "I've cost you a lot more than that, my Friend."

He deliberately laid the braid aside. "You mustn't think like that. He wouldn't have stood for it - and neither will I."

She came closer and stared down into his face, noting the dark shadows beneath his eyes, and the bruises still livid on his throat and shoulder, just visible beneath the fold of his tunic. The moonlight reflected the crystal clarity of his eyes as he looked up at her. Suddenly, Amidala found her next breath difficult to draw.

For his part, Obi-Wan was mesmerized, but only for a heartbeat. _Gods, Kenobi, she's just a kid. Not much older than Anakin. What are you thinking?_

Abruptly, he rose and moved away from her, and pretended not to notice when she collapsed onto the lounger as if her knees would no longer support her.

"We'll be leaving tomorrow, after the parade," he said firmly. "And I hope to impose on your generosity once more. I noticed a couple of old headhunter scouts in one of the hangars, and I need transport to Ragoon 6. May I borrow one?"

"Borrow?" she said with a not completely steady laugh. "Anything I have is yours, for the taking."

But Obi-Wan was _not_ going to address that remark. "A loan will do nicely," he said.

Amidala looked into the dark doorway behind her and heard the soft breathing of the child sleeping in the huge bed inside the room. "Will he be all right without you? While you're gone, I mean?"

"I'll only be a couple of days. He'll be fine."

He was leaning against the railing now, arms outstretched along its top, and the queen rose and moved to stand before him. Her voice was little more than a whisper. "Don't underestimate your importance, Jedi - to him - or to me."

And she brushed her lips against his and was gone. It wasn't exactly a kiss; more of a caress. Just a tender gesture between friends.

 _Between friends. Um hmm._ He sometimes got very annoyed with his own inner voice - like now. _And friendship, no doubt, is why you're debating finding another one of those cold showers._

And, again, as in a thousand other instances on this interminable day, he reached for the link that had always been his lifeline, seeking the gentle humor and comfort of his Master's presence. And the agony was with him again, his consciousness inundated with a wash of memories. He retrieved his severed braid and settled himself in the plush depths of the lounger, wrapping his body in his Jedi cloak and his mind in the sweet sorrow of reminiscence. 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The city of Theed was attired in its brightest finery, adorned with brilliant banners of synth-silk and festooned with garlands and sprays of rainbow-hued flowers. Laughter and camaraderie seemed to permeate the very air, as the Nubian people rejoiced in the renewed tranquility and independence of their world. After the victory parade of the morning, the streets remained filled with revelers, celebrating the restoration of the simple pleasures of their everyday lives.

Obi-Wan Kenobi concentrated on maintaining an air of serenity, determined not to dampen the spirits of the locals. They had suffered greatly during the Trade Federation's occupation, and deserved their frolic in the sun. He would not spoil it for them.

He watched the young queen of Naboo, aglow in a blush-tone gown, concocted, it seemed, of lace and froth, perform the duties of her office with grace and dignity and observed that she seemed to grow more poised and more radiant with every passing hour. He watched the gentle smiles exchanged between her and his padawan, and was momentarily puzzled by a faint tremor in the Force, but he let it go as a meaningless fluctuation reflecting the excitement of the occasion.

He was gratified by the genuine happiness he felt around him, but he was glad, nevertheless, when the parade ended. The contrast between the joy outside of himself, and the anguish within, kept prompting him to run away and find a hole to crawl in. But, of course, he couldn't do that. He was a Jedi knight now and soon to be Master to his own padawan. Running away was no longer a viable option.

As the time for the departure of the Jedi drew near, young Skywalker became more and more anxious and restless. His hands strayed constantly to his hair, testing and retesting the spiky softness that felt so strange, and the short braid that fell behind his right ear. Obi-Wan knew exactly how the boy felt, as he had to consciously restrain himself from reaching for the braid that no longer fell over his own shoulder.

Both Obi-Wan and the Jedi Council had agreed that the formal bonding rite, pairing Master and Apprentice, should be performed immediately, before the departure from Naboo, in the belief that this would give the new padawan a sense of stability and belonging, even during the temporary absence of his new Master.

The hour was now at hand.

As Obi-Wan and Anakin approached the transport vessel that would carry the boy and the Council back to Coruscant, the young knight reached out and laid a calming hand on Anakin's arm, augmenting the gesture with a trace of Force-enchanced comfort. The effect was instantaneous, as the painfully obvious anxiety in the boy's face relaxed into an easy watchfulness.

"Sorry, Master," Anakin whispered.

"Just relax, Ani," Obi Wan replied. "You only have to say two words. There's nothing to it."

 _Right,_ thought Anakin. _I'm about to be Force bonded to a Jedi knight and pledge my life to him. No big deal. Easy for him to say._

Obi-Wan's eyes reflected the smile he did not allow to touch his lips. Their bond wasn't yet strong enough for him to have read the actual words in the boy's mind, but he'd caught the gist of it just the same. And the child was right; despite the simplicity and brevity of the ceremony, it was a very solemn and moving occasion; a very "big deal".

The young Jedi looked toward the transport to see the Council members waiting patiently. His eyes moved to the ship behind them, and he did an almost classic double-take. _No._ he thought. _It can't be. I must be reading it wrong._

But it became more obvious with every step that he wasn't wrong. Across the starboard bulkhead, flanking the cockpit of the customized Corellian corvette, in foot-high letters glowing neon scarlet against the ebony hull, was the name of the ship: _Main Chance_.

Obi Wan's uncertainty vanished and was replaced by firm resolve as he turned to face Master Mace Windu. "That's Longo's ship," he said sharply, not bothering to conceal an accusatory tone.

Windu nodded. "Correct."

"He's a pirate. Since when . . ."

" _Was_ a pirate," Windu interrrupted. "Was! Not is."

There was no amusement in Obi-Wan's smile. "Master, you can throw a silk tent over a bantha and spray it with perfume, so it might swish like a woman and smell like a woman, but it's still a bantha."

Windu grinned. "Interesting metaphor, Pad . . . Obi-Wan. But not germane to this discussion. Captain Longo has reformed. And served his time, I might add."

Realization flared in crystal blue eyes. "And been assigned to transport the Jedi around the galaxy as part of his sentence?"

Windu nodded, his grin growing wider. "And hating every minute of it."

"Still . . ."

Noting the depth of the young Jedi's concern, the dark Master relented. "He was notorious for his daring and his nerve, Obi-Wan. And he is an excellent pilot. But he was never a killer."

"Just a thief," replied Obi-Wan, still not completely sure that he wanted to entrust his padawan to the skills of an infamous buccaneer, no matter how "reformed" he might seem to be.

Mace allowed a tiny trace of impatience to creep into his tone. "Do you really think one lowly pirate captain, with a crew consisting of one K'Muri first mate, is any match for the entire Jedi Council?"

Now it was Obi-Wan's turn to grin. "Sorry, Master. I guess I forgot who I was talking to."

With one last glance at the dark ship, noting a slender K'Muri hovering at the top of the entry ramp, Obi-Wan turned to face the assembled Council members. Master Yoda cleared his throat abruptly, an unmistakable signal that his patience was wearing thin. As he thumped his gimmer stick on the ground, the other Council members arranged themselves in a loose circle, with Obi-Wan and Anakin at its center.

"Kneel, you will," said Yoda, "and face each other."

Obediently, Obi-Wan and Anakin dropped to their knees, and the tiny Master moved to stand beside them.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," Yoda intoned solemnly, "you have requested audience before this council. State your intention."

"By the will of the Force," Obi-Wan said softly, repeating the same words that had been spoken by his own master almost thirteen years before, "and in the presence of the Masters' circle, I take you, Anakin Skywalker, as my Padawan learner."

It amazed him to no end that his voice was firm, betraying nothing of the emotional turmoil that swept through him. Somewhere, deep within his consciousness, a tiny voice was shouting at him, demanding to know what the phreg he thought he was doing and how the phreg he thought he was going to do it. But he ignored the voice and simply extended his hand, palm up, rock steady.

Not quite so steady and obviously somewhat overwhelmed by the solemnity of the moment was his almost-padawan. But the boy swallowed his apprehension and managed to give the proper response. "I accept." And he eagerly reached out and placed his hand into Obi-Wan's. His sapphire eyes widened marginally as he detected the small but definite surge of - something - that passed from one hand to the other.

At that moment, Master Yoda reached forward and enclosed their two hands with both of his. All the Jedi Masters in the Circle pressed close and, along with their diminutive leader, closed their eyes and summoned the sweet unity of the Force, as Yoda acted as a conduit to channel its power directly into the new bond.

Obi-Wan watched Anakin's face, waiting for the moment he knew would come. And come, it did, with surprising intensity. The strength of the bond forging was sufficiently intimidating to create panic in the novice's mind, and the very first duty of a new Master was to assuage the rising fear and pour reassurances into the younger consciousness. When the boy first noticed the Jedi's presence in his thoughts, his eyes grew huge and shadowed. But the shadows were blessedly fleeting, almost instantly replaced with radiant joy as he heard Obi-Wan's gentle message. _Steady, Padawan. We are bonded. Now you're stuck with me._

_Master?_

_None other._

_I'll make you proud, Master._

Obi-Wan's eyes were suspiciously bright. _You already have, Ani._

"It is done," said Master Yoda, releasing his hold on their hands. "Bonded you are, and bonded you will remain." He stepped back and regarded the two steadily.

The Council members moved forward to offer their traditional congratulations, and Anakin was almost glowing with contentment.

But Obi-Wan noted that Yoda's eyes continued to follow the boy, and there was a strange stillness in that ancient face that raised a sliver of icy apprehension in the young Jedi's mind. He also registered that Yoda had not offered his own congratulations. 

Checking first to be sure that Anakin was otherwise occupied, the young knight moved to confront the tiny Master. Careful to show no disrespect, he dropped to one knee to do so.

Yoda merely regarded him solemnly, patiently.

"You could, at least, wish us luck," said Obi-Wan, with a bitter smile.

"Know better, you do." The brilliant, old eyes blinked slowly.

"Master . . ."

But Yoda raised a peremptory hand. "Speak of this now, we will not. You mourn your Master, still. Too raw are the wounds."

"But Anakin . . ."

"The Force will decide his fate," Yoda continued. "What we can do, we will do. But now, heal, you must. And meditate on how to proceed. Guidance, you will receive. Be ready for it, you must."

"Guidance?" Obi-Wan frowned. "What . . "

Yoda leaned forward and, once more, surprised Obi-Wan by tracing the line of his jaw with a feather-light touch. "Open your mind, you must. And your heart."

It was no more than a whisper.

Obi-Wan sighed, wishing that, just once, the ancient Master would speak in something other than riddles. "Yes, Master."

Yoda turned away and thumped his gimmer stick sharply. "Time to go, it is," he announced.

Obi-Wan looked once more at the waiting ship and spied the K'Muri again, now wringing its four hands into intriguing knots.

"Yes, yes." Its speech was laced with the sibilance common to its species. "Welcome, Jedi. Please to board and be welcome. Shortly, we will depart. Just - very soon. Please to enter."

Obi-Wan nodded to Anakin to board and addressed the concern he read in the boy's eyes. "I'll be with you in a couple of days, at the most. Nothing is going to happen to me."

"But . . ." The boy struggled to find the right words, and bit his lip in frustration when they didn't come.

"No buts," Obi-Wan said firmly. "This is something I have to do. One day - very far from today, I hope - you'll have to do the same for me. And then you'll understand."

"I do understand, Master," said Anakin. "It's just . . .I keep seeing something dark, like it's reaching for you."

Obi-Wan almost grinned. "Don't center on your anxieties, Padawan." _Omigods, I can't believe I actually said it._ "The first thing a padawan has to learn is to trust his Master. You must trust that I can take care of both of us."

Anakin finally just nodded, reluctant but convinced.

"Master Mace will look out for you until I return," Obi-Wan went on. "Now get on board."

Impulsively, he enveloped the boy in a bear hug before giving him a little push toward the ramp. Anakin ducked his head in embarrassment, but Obi-Wan felt the boy's warm affection through their newly-forged bond.

 _Come soon_. Obviously, Anakin was going to enjoy their open channel.

_I will. Now go._

As the boy climbed the ramp, Mace Windu fell in step beside him, and sent Obi-Wan a reassuring smile. As they made their way toward the open hatch, they met the K'Muri on his way down.

Obi-Wan studied the felinoid as it descended the ramp, and was struck, as always in dealing with this particular species, at the fluidity and grace of its movements. But the hands spoiled the image. There was nothing graceful about the patterns they were weaving, or the jerkiness of their motion. Obi-Wan didn't bother accessing his Force senses; the creature radiated near hysteria like the Nubian sun gave off light.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked finally, noting that the claws at the ends of those frantic hands were leaving painful-looking gouges in the dark skin of the being's arms.

The K'Muri heaved a huge sigh. "I am Ja'Balos - first mate of the _Main Chance_."

"Yes?"

"I have small problem."

Large amber eyes with vertical pupils focused on the young Jedi with desperation gleaming in their depths. "Everything ready for Jedi, but . . ." He hesitated, and wrung his hands more intricately.

"But?" prompted Obi-Wan.

The tawny-coated being, who was almost two meters tall, leaned forward and muttered something unintelligible.

"What?" Obi-Wan tried, very hard, not to broadcast his growing impatience.

"Have ship. Have Jedi . . . but -"

Obi-Wan simply crossed his arms and resisted the urge to tap his foot.

"No pilot."

"No pilot?" The young Jedi observed, with no small amount of disgust, that he sounded like a trained parrot.

"Pilot missing. OK?" The K'Muri had apparently decided that a shout would work better than a whisper. "You find pilot. OK? Big Shot Jedi good for finding things when missing. Yes?"

Obi-Wan's eyes were hard and cold. "Sure. I'll find him. It won't be the first time a Jedi had to trace down Brex Longo, now will it?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the end, it wasn't as difficult as he had feared. Given his familiarity with the lifestyles of many star pilots, Obi-Wan had planned to visit some of the less reputable establishments of the Nubian capital, but he first took a moment to stow his gear in the cockpit of the small scout ship he had borrowed from the queen. When he arrived in the hanger, and approached the one he had selected, he found a pair of legs sticking out the bottom of the engine housing. The upper half of the body in question was jammed into a space that should not have been able to accommodate it, but somehow had.

His footsteps echoed in the vast hangar as he came to stand at the base of the landing strut.

"Hey," said a muffled voice from within the innards of the motor, "hand me that plexing spanner, please."

Obi-Wan selected the appropriate tool from the jumble of an open tool bin and placed it in a flailing, grease-stained hand.

"Thanks."

"No problem. We aim to please."

"Be right with you. I've almost got it."

"May I ask what you're doing?"

"Sure. Just adjusting the hyper-drive transit coil. It wouldn't do for the Jedi's new media darling to blow himself into space dust before he gets back to Coruscant, now would it?"

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed. "No. I suppose it wouldn't."

There was a bang, and then a clunking sound. "Son of a Sith, these things are tighter than a virgin's . . ." The voice paused, as if realizing that it might be on thin ice since it had no idea with whom it had been conversing.

"Why don't you just come out of there? Maybe I can finish it up."

The legs bent at the knee abruptly, and a greasy face, crowned with a mop of dark hair, appeared at the opening into the housing.

"And you would be?" The voice was insolent, to put it mildly.

The young Jedi smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "The 'Jedi's new media darling' - in person."

"Oh. Well, in that case . . ." The face, and the rest of the body wormed its way out of the housing. Revealed finally, he was quite tall, broad-shouldered but narrow-hipped, swarthy in complexion, clean-shaven, and had eyes of smoky topaz. And he was human; of that there was absolutely no doubt. He broadcast it in the swagger of his posture.

"Funny," he said finally, tossing tools back into the open bin, "you don't look like a Sith-killer."

"Funny," retorted Obi-Wan, "you don't look like a reformed pirate, Captain Longo."

The pilot wiped his face with a grimy sleeve. "I see my reputation has preceded me."

"Ummm." The Jedi was non-committal. "What were you really doing to my ship?"

Longo knelt to pick up the spanner he had dropped and looked up at the young knight with a lopsided grin. "The truth?"

Obi-Wan took a deep, calming breath. "I find that usually saves time. Don't you."

"Right. OK. The truth is that I learned to fly in one of these babies. And I couldn't resist poking around in it. Have you flown one before?"

For a moment, Obi-Wan considered telling the ex-pirate that it was none of his business, but then he reconsidered. When he grinned, Longo was caught by surprise. "Why do you think I asked for this one?" Obi-Wan admitted, with a chuckle. "There were plenty of other ships, but . . ."

"But nothing else flies like a CZY headhunter," Longo finished the sentence for him. A speculative gleam arose in his eyes. "I thought the Jedi were supposed to be uninterested in such things."

Obi-Wan just smiled. "Speaking of the Jedi, Captain. They're waiting for you. And your first mate has practically clawed himself to a bloody pulp."

"Oh, Sithspawn. It can't be that late. Can it?" The pilot ran for the exit, but paused half-way there. "I don't suppose I could interest you in a little recreational flying, back on Coruscant."

Obi-Wan raised his eyes to take in the sleek, aerodynamic lines of the little ship in front of him. He knew it would require almost all of his time from now on to prepare Anakin for knighthood, especially since they had so much lost time to make up for. And there would be endless missions, just as there had been with Qui-Gon. But still, everyone had to have a life, didn't they? Beyond the job?

He turned back to the pilot, with a small smile. "Clouded, the future is. Always in motion. Stranger things have happened."

Longo grinned. "Right." He turned and ran for the exit. _Phregging Jedi._ he thought. _Just once, I'd like to get a straight answer._

* * * * * * * * * * * *  
tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3---------In Memorium

The journey from Naboo to Ragoon 6 was less than a Nubian day in duration, but it was a step back in time of decades, if not centuries. Despite its somewhat bucolic appearance and less than frantic life pace, Naboo was a relatively modern world, capable of providing most of the amenities that constituted the accepted standard of civilization.

Ragoon 6, on the other hand, was a primitive place, where technology was not only unknown, but even undreamt of. As the CZY headhunter scout bored through the planet's atmosphere so steeply that its pilot was thrown violently against his seat restraints, and shattered the stillness of the land with the shriek of its passage, Obi-Wan really tried to restrain himself and reign in the wild plunge toward the surface. He knew this was nothing more than a surrender to childish impulses; knew that his wild ride was almost certainly disrupting an entire ecosystem; knew he was undoubtedly traumatizing untold numbers of species of fauna with the fury of his descent; knew, even, that his Master would certainly have frowned on his behavior, which, given that he carried with him, sealed in a small enameled urn, the last remains of that very same Master, should have made him feel totally ashamed of himself.

He had that thought just as he swooped down to an altitude only some two hundred meters above the ground, before standing the headhunter on its ear, letting out a howl of pure physical exuberance, and streaking away toward a cluster of jagged peaks in the near distance. A sudden memory of Anakin's fondness for pod racing brought a smile to his face; maybe Master and Padawan were not as different as he had originally believed.

 _If you kill yourself_ \- his tiny inner voice was droll - _who's going to train Anakin?_

But he wasn't going to kill himself. Not today anyway. According to his Master, Obi-Wan's greatest strength had always been in the Unifying Force; the aspect that fostered visions and some limited ability to see the future. He had somehow come to the conclusion - long ago - that he would know when his time drew near. He couldn't prove it, by any means; he didn't even know where the conviction had come from. He just knew that it was right.

Obi-Wan smiled as a memory stirred in his mind. As he launched the sleek little ship into a twisting path through the mountains, the very air split asunder by the violence of its passage, he allowed the memory to play out in his mind.

_When he was only five years old, Obi-Wan Kenobi endured an adventure that few living under the protection of the Jedi order would ever experience. He had been abducted from his bed in the creche and spirited out of the Temple. For three days, the knighthood was in turmoil, as Masters, knights, padawans, and even older initiates, along with Senate security staffers and Coruscanti police officers turned the capitol world upside down in search of the missing child._

_But, in the end, it was not the massive force of manpower which had resolved the situation successfully. It was, instead, the instinctive actions and unexpected resourcefulness of the child himself, who managed, somehow, to free himself from the restraints placed on him by his captors (who had apparently not allowed for the fact that this particular five-year-old could access the Force to an astonishing degree.) He then found a way to escape from a locked room (again, using the Force to "pick" the lock), and make his way through a warren of deserted buildings and refuse-clogged alleys, through increasingly crowded streets, to present himself finally before a very tall, very large, very persistent man who was questioning pedestrians about a missing child._

_Little Obi-Wan waited politely until the large man apparently decided to try elsewhere._

_"Hey!" the little boy yelled finally, when the man turned to walk away._

_The man - cowled in Jedi robes - looked confused, his eyes darting everywhere around him._

_"Hey!" The shout came again._

_And this time, the man looked down._

_Obi-Wan still remembered how Qui-Gon Jinn's midnight eyes filled with tears as he dropped to his knees there in that dirty street, to enfold the little child in strong, loving arms._

_Once the Jedi assured himself that the boy was whole and unharmed, he lifted him up and carried him to a waiting transport, and buckled him securely into a safety seat. After seating himself in the vehicle, he turned to look at the little boy with something like awe in his eyes._

_"Obi-Wan," he said softly, "how did you find me?"_

_And little Obi-Wan yawned and fixed sleepy, almost transparent blue eyes on the Jedi master as he reached up to stroke Qui-Gon's beard with pudgy fingers._

_"Just knew," he said, eyelids fluttering. "Knew you would come."_

_It was the only explanation he ever gave._

Twelve years later, in a rare moment of unguarded candor, Qui-Gon had related to his padawan that it was at that moment that little Obi-Wan had staked a claim on the Master's heart that would never be dissolved.

Obi-Wan grimaced as he narrowly avoided an unexpected outcropping of solid rock that speared the gorge he was navigating. Far below he spotted the sparkle of rushing water, and forced himself to ease back on the headhunter's throttle. He thought his destination was getting close.

As he shot out of the mountains and the land fell away into a deep valley, he allowed the momentum of his progress to bleed off in a series of rolls and tacks. The little ship handled with the delicate ease of an atmospheric flyer, and the young Jedi almost laughed aloud in the sheer enjoyment of the sensations.

All too soon, there - ahead and slightly to port, beyond a deep band of forest - lay his destination, a broad plateau, crowned with a riot of jungle-like growth, from which a deep, roaring waterfall tumbled over a series of ledges to a bottomless azure pool at the cliff's base. Draping over the edges of the formation were drifts of rare K'hendria orchids, bracts of cerulean blossoms tumbling and rambling over each other in an ageless contest to reach the prism-touched mist that hovered above and around the great sweep of water.

It was - without a doubt - the most spectacularly beautiful place Obi-Wan had ever seen, and it was his Master who had first discovered it, in the company of his beloved Tahl, and later shared it with his Padawan.

Thus it was perfect for Obi-Wan's needs, except for one small problem.

It was an absolute bitch - (Sorry, Master) - to reach. There was no spot on the surface of the plateau with sufficient clear space to land anything larger than a swoop, and, of course, he didn't have access to one of those.

There were only two alternatives. Landing at the base of the plateau, in a meadow beyond the falls, was child's play for an experienced pilot, and the climb to the top of the cliff from that point was fairly simple, but it was extremely long, requiring at least a full day up, and another full day for the descent.

The second choice involved a small, natural platform carved into the walls of the rock formation by the winds of countless millennia. It should be large enough to accommodate the headhunter - barely - and was relatively clear of obstacles and stable. It was located roughly two thirds of the way up the steep walls, thus reducing the distance to be covered by a substantial amount. But the degree of difficulty of the climb, from the platform, was considerably greater than that of the longer route, as it involved sheer expanses of soft stone that tended to crumble under stress. That particular face of the formation would pose a challenge, even to a climber with Force-enhanced ability.

As he considered his options, Obi-Wan imagined what Qui-Gon would say about the entire situation. "You'd say it's a fool's errand," he said softly. "I should just fly over and let the wind take you." He closed his eyes and pictured his Master's wry smile and was overcome with a fresh stab of anguish. "Not good enough, Master. This is my pilgrimage - for you."

And he aimed for the tiny niche in the wall of the plateau. Anakin was waiting for him to complete his task here, and he didn't think he should take any more time than was absolutely necessary.

As he nursed the headhunter down to its rocky berth, its left landing strut settling less than two meters from the edge of the precipice, Ragoon 6's primary star touched the horizon with a spectacular burst of scarlet and amethyst radiance, threaded with veins of fire. "Look, Master," the young Jedi whispered, tears welling to transform the lovely sight into an artist's impressionist rendering, "it's putting on a fireworks display for you, to welcome you back."

It was full dark by the time he composed himself sufficiently to disembark.

After a quick meal of nutrient bars, he found a drift of the beautiful orchids growing in a small niche in the rock wall and discovered, to his delight, that the vine was soft, thick, and yielding and made for a more than adequate bed. He wrapped his cloak around him and settled down to await the new day.

Above him the night sky, untouched by moonlight and unpolluted by artificial light sources, was a panoply of splendor, shot through with beams of ruby and emerald and bands of opalescence. 

He sighed softly. "We let ourselves forget," he murmured. "We lose ourselves in our own artificial realities, and we forget all this."

He inhaled deeply and was delighted with the scents of the night. And then, with a soft rush of anticipation, he opened himself and reached for the Force, and was instantly immersed in the never-ending tide of life. He felt the tiny creatures of the darkness that were drawn to his exhaled breath; others that concealed themselves in shadowy foliage or minute crevasses in the rock; larger life forms farther away, pursued their nocturnal routines, and engaged in the ageless choreography of predator and prey. High above, great winged flyers soared in thermal currents, reveling, no doubt, in defying the demands of gravity.

Without conscious effort, Obi-Wan slipped into a meditative state and watched as his consciousness both expanded and narrowed. And, as he had so often in these recent days, he stepped into memory so clear and intense that it was painful. In this particular instance, literally painful.

Only once, in the course of their history together, had Qui-Gon ever completely lost his temper with his padawan, and Obi-Wan's memory of the event was still vivid.

_He had spent hours that day in the training room, working on ever more difficult katas, attempting to keep up with his Master's commands. Early on, he felt that he had done reasonably well, but, as the day wore on, he realized that he was faltering, badly. Other padawans and their Masters had come and gone, and he wondered briefly just how long they had been engaged in the workout, but he dared not spare the time to steal a look at a chronometer. He had completely lost track of the hour, but he noted that the sky had grown dark beyond the plate glass windows while he was deep in concentration._

_"Padawan!" The voice was almost shrill with impatience. "You must focus. Do it again."_

_The fifteen-year-old boy clamped down on the urge to heave a huge sigh, and reset himself into the opening position of the kata, taking a brief moment to make sure that his mental shielding was firmly in place. It was getting more and more difficult to mask the grinding pain in his lower chest that had been growing in intensity with every hour since his fall in the gymnasium two days before. But he must continue to do so; he could not allow his Master to perceive his weakness._

_Grimly, he started the exercise again, but he was sweating profusely by this time, and a wet spot on the floor led to his downfall. When he attempted to plant his foot to accept a shift in his weight, he slipped on the wet surface and crashed painfully to one knee._

_"Enough!" said Qui-Gon sharply, his exasperation obvious in his tone._

_"I'm sorry, Master, " mumbled the boy, the pain in his knee and in his chest nothing compared to his emotional anguish in disappointing his Master - again._

_"Of course you are," said Qui-Gon distantly. "Clean yourself up, and go home."_

_He didn't actually say, "And get out of my sight" but that's what Obi-Wan heard anyway._

_The Padawan found the shower room empty, and reflected wryly that at least he could be grateful for that much. As he showered, he attempted to send waves of healing energy into the mass of bruises on his rib cage. But powerful as he was - and he was extremely powerful, though he did not yet know or believe it - he was no healer, and his efforts were woefully inadequate._

_At great pains to conceal the extent of his injury, lest anyone catch a glimpse of him displaying signs of weakness and report it to his Master, he dressed quickly and returned to their shared quarters. Qui-Gon had not returned, and the boy didn't bother to turn on lights as he went into his room and lay down on his bed, careful to avoid pressure on the damaged ribs. He made no sound; he was too tired to undress, except to kick off his boots; too tired to eat; even too tired to cry. Besides, he had given up crying just recently._

_At fourteen, he had decided, he was too old for tears. And there was little point in crying over what could not be changed anyway. Obi-Wan had begun to accept what he now perceived as inevitable; he had failed; failed his Master and failed himself. He was not worthy to be a Jedi Padawan, and certainly not worthy to be apprenticed to the great Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Perhaps it was time to admit defeat. He swallowed hard; it was a notion that he had never been comfortable with before, but he was tired. Bone-tired. Soul-tired._

_He stared into the dimness of the living area and saw that a ray of soft light from the window had fallen on a small cabinet that flanked the sofa. On that chest sat a small, intricately worked woodcarving of a great bird, lifting its wings in preparation for flight. It was a beautiful piece, much loved by his Master. Qui-Gon almost certainly did not know that his apprentice had learned the history of the object, but Obi-Wan doubted that he would care anyway, even if he did know. The carving had been a gift from Xanatos, Qui-Gon's last apprentice, who had fallen to the Dark side. The apprentice that he still mourned. The apprentice that Obi-Wan would never be able to replace._

_The Padawan closed his eyes and tried to find serenity within himself._

_He must have dozed off, because when next he opened his eyes, he saw his Master's dark form, huddled at the end of the couch. In light reflected from the window, he could just make out that Qui-Gon's shoulders were hunched and shaking, and that the delicate woodcarving was grasped in his massive hands._

_Silently, gripped by unreasoning fear, the apprentice rose from his bed and moved to stand in the doorway. In the deadly quiet of the night, he clearly heard the sound of soft weeping. It wrung his heart, and he knew he must do something - anything - to ease such hopeless pain._

_"Master," he said softly, tenderly._

_The effect was immediate. Qui-Gon surged to his feet and snarled, "What do _you_ want?"_

_And the delicate carving, his only surviving memento of the boy he had loved beyond all reason, slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor, splintering on impact._

_"Master." Qui-Gon was too deep in his own despair to hear that in the boy's voice._

_"I said, what do you want?" The Jedi's voice quivered with raw rage. "Haven't you done enough?"_

_And suddenly, there was a great deafening roar in Obi-Wan's mind, as the barrier of ice he had erected around his wounded heart - the barrier that allowed him to endure the cruel realities that constantly assaulted him and persevere; the barrier that absorbed the hurt and resentment that he could never acknowledge - that barrier was blasted into oblivion by an eruption of pain and rage and an irresistible need to strike back, engulfing the boy in a black fury such as he had never known and was ill-equipped to handle._

_"Fuck you," he said, barely audible._

_Qui-Gon froze and fixed the apprentice with a white-hot glare. Ordinarily, even the suggestion of such a look would have been enough to terrify the boy, but he was far beyond any such caution now. The Master's voice was deadly cold. "What did you say?"_

_"You heard me." Obi-Wan refused to back down. "Fuck you and your precious Xanatos, too. And if this is what it means to be Jedi, then fuck the Jedi too."_

_Crossing the room was a matter of two steps for the long-limbed Master, and his hand smashed solidly into Obi-Wan's face, almost before the last word had died away. The apprentice felt blood gush from his torn lip, as he was lifted and pinned against the wall by Qui-Gon's great strength._

_"You will never speak to me like that again." The rage in the Master's voice was palpable._

_And, as suddenly as it had come, the anger in the boy's heart was gone, leaving Obi-Wan empty and bereft of hope. "Send me away, " he whispered, from the depth of a great weariness. "I don't want to be here any more."_

_It took several moments for Qui-Gon to master his anger and regain his composure. When he did, he peered into Obi-Wan's face and saw the gleam of tears brim over and spill from eyes washed pearl gray in the dim light._

_"Is that what you really want?"_

_The apprentice nodded, not trusting himself to speak._

_But something - Qui-Gon looked puzzled - something not quite as it should be nudged his consciousness, and he looked at the boy - really looked at him - for the first time in months._

_"Obi-Wan?"_

_"Yes, Master." It was no more than a sigh._

_"Lower your shields."_

_The boy turned his face away from Qui-Gon's scrutiny, but the Master would not be denied. He still held his apprentice pinned against the wall, and he firmly grasped the boy's chin and turned his face back so he could look deep into his eyes._

_"Please let me go." Obi-Wan's plea was heart-rending, and Qui-Gon almost winced when he noted the very large print of his very large hand on the boy's face._

_"Lower your shields, Padawan. Do it now." And the power of the Force, added to the pressure exerted through the Master/Padawan bond, proved to be irresistible._

_Obi-Wan's mental shielding collapsed, and the Jedi Master visibly recoiled as he was assailed with waves of intense pain, both physical and emotional._

_"By the Force," he swore, as he lifted the boy and laid him gently on the couch. He tore open Obi-Wan's tunic and swore again as he revealed the ugly mass of lividity that spread across the boy's chest._

_"What is this? How did this happen?"_

_Obi-Wan, by this time, was totally incapable of speech, overwhelmed with shame._

_Qui-Gon knelt at the boy's side, and regarded him helplessly. "Talk to me, Obi-Wan. You must tell me what's wrong."_

_"Like you?" Obi-Wan finally managed to reply. And it was as if the floodgates opened under a deluge of broken words and desperate thoughts that became a force to be reckoned with. Suddenly, he could not silence himself. "You don't want to hear me, Master. Any more than you want to talk to me. I can't deal with it any more. I thought I could handle it. I knew from the first that I would always be second in your heart, if I was even that. I knew I'd never be able to replace him. But I thought, if I worked hard enough and tried hard enough and did everything right, that I wouldn't be such a disappointment to you. I thought that, since he was gone, you might be able to forget some of your hurt. But he's not gone, Master. He's never been gone. He's still here." Obi-Wan reached out and placed his hand over Qui-Gon's heart._

_"It never works out right," he continued, his voice flat now, and almost devoid of feeling. "And I'm tired of trying. Send me away. Please."_

_Qui-Gon spent several moments in stunned silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was unsteady. he gestured to the massive bruising on Obi-Wan's chest. "Is that what this is about? You have to be perfect, so you can never admit to being hurt?"_

_Obi-Wan didn't bother answering._

_With a trembling hand, the Jedi Master reached out and wiped a tear from his Padawan's face. "I can't send you away, Obi-Wan."_

_But Obi-Wan shook his head. "Of course you can. Just tell everyone I wasn't good enough. It happens every day."_

_Qui-Gon placed his hands on either side of the boy's face and forced his apprentice to meet his gaze. "I can't send you away, because it would rip my heart out to lose you."_

_Obi-Wan blinked-hard. "But . . ."_

_"I know," Qui-Gon interrupted softly, his hands now stroking the boy's hair. "We're quite a pair, Padawan. A child who believes he must be perfect to avoid his Master's disappointment - and a Master who's afraid to open his heart, for fear of being vulnerable to the loss of a child, a child who has already become the focus of his life, whether he chooses to admit it or not."_

_Obi-Wan's lip trembled, but he resisted the urge to break into sobs. "Master, I've accepted that it isn't working. You don't have to pretend any more. And you don't have to feel guilty about not wanting me."_

_With a huge sigh, the Master pulled the boy up and wrapped him in a gentle embrace. "By the Force, Child. I'm trying to tell you that I love you. That I can't bear the thought of losing you."_

_"But . . ."_

_"No buts, Obi-Wan. Apparently, there's only one way to convince you."_

_He drew back and peered deep into the boy's eyes. "My shields are down, Padawan. I want you to reach into my mind."_

_"No, Master, I . . ."_

_"Do it . . .now." And, again, the compulsion was irresistible._

_Obi-Wan was so still he forgot to breathe, as he was swept into the dark corners of his Master's consciousness. He felt and explored much there that made him ache for his Master's pain, but he finally came to the core of awareness that Qui-Gon wanted him to see. There, in a halo of brilliance, sweet and pure and untainted by the surrounding darkness was the Master's feeling for his Padawan._

_Obi-Wan withdrew abruptly as his eyes flickered and widened, and glowed beneath a wash of fresh tears._

_"You . . .". He paused for a breath. "You . . ."_

_"Yes, Obi-Wan, I love you. You're my son, in every way except the biological. And I couldn't love you more if that were also the case. If I drive you too hard, and expect too much from you, it's only because I know what you're capable of, and I know that the skills I teach you may save your precious life one day. And if I don't tell you how I feel, it's because I can't quite believe that a lonely, embittered old man could deserve to have a Padawan of such unsurpassing goodness and purity."_

_"But Xanatos . . ."_

_"Xanatos," said Qui-Gon, taking a deep breath, "is gone. He destroyed me, Padawan. I won't lie to you about that. Something in me died when he turned. It died, and it never came back to life - until I found you. You gave my life back to me, Obi-Wan. I can't lose you. And when I get angry with you, it's only because I can't bear the thought of losing you. Please don't ask me to send you away. I won't survive without you."_

_Obi-Wan's answer was non-verbal, as he was far beyond speech at this point. He collapsed against his Master's broad chest and allowed himself to weep openly, without shame._

_"Now," said Qui-Gon gruffly, when the boy was quiet again, "let's get you to the healers. And if you ever hide an injury from me again, I'm going to make you eat Master Yoda's famous gruel every day for a month. Understand?"_

_Obi-Wan managed a smile. "A fate worse than death?"_

_"Absolutely." Qui-Gon laid his hand, ever so gently, against the boy's cheek. "I'm sorry, Padawan. I swear to you, I'll never raise my hand to you again."_

_"I appreciate that," said Obi-Wan wryly, probing his jaw with tentative fingers. "What a wallop!"_

_Qui-Gon smiled. "Maybe I should have gone with my first instinct. I wanted to take you across my knee."_

_Obi-Wan spared a quick look at the size of his Master's hands. "If it's all the same to you, Master, couldn't you just - swear at me, or something."_

_The Jedi Master chuckled and rose to his feet, pulling the boy up with him. "Come along, Brat. The healers have probably been having withdrawal symptoms from not seeing your face. And I think we need to spend some time working on our communication bond."_

_Obi-Wan raised a quizzical eyebrow._

_Qui-Gon laid a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "With an open bond, two people who care for each other as much as we do shouldn't need words. I don't want either of us to ever feel so alone again."_

_Obi-Wan grinned._ Want to test it?

Certainly. _Qui-Gon's smile permeated the bond._

_For a moment, the apprentice debated the wisdom of sending his Master a slightly naughty limerick he had learned from Mace Windu. But in the end, he decided otherwise._

__Master?

Yes, Padawan.

I love you.

 _Qui-Gon was very glad that his back was turned to his apprentice. It wouldn't do for the boy to see tears in his Master's eyes._ I know _._

_As they approached the doorway that led to the hall, Qui-Gon reached out and once more swept the boy into his arms, making sure that his face was buried in Obi-Wan's robe._

_"Master?" Obi-Wan's voice sounded strange._

_"Yes?"_

_"I can't breathe."_

_Hastily, Qui-Gon released him and made his exit from the room. Obi-Wan followed, a tiny smile lighting his face._

_It would prove to be a major turning point in their lives._

Obi-Wan snuggled into his blossomed bower and drifted into dreamless sleep, soothed by the subliminal hum of the Force, as well as a gentle presence, as yet unperceived. He stirred only occasionally, just barely brushed with a fleeting awareness of the presence of prying eyes.

***************  
tbc


	4. Chapter 4

* Chapter 4 - - Bright Spirit

Morning dawned brilliant and crisp, with a lingering trace of winter, and Obi-Wan opened one eye to inspect a tiny, jewel-toned bird that perched on a blossom hovering just above his face, whistling cheerfully. He suppressed an urge to swat the tiny creature - it was much too early for "cheerful" - closed the offending eye, and snuggled deeper into the warmth of his Jedi robe. After 25 years, he had come to accept an inescapable truth: he would never be a morning person.

The bird pecked him on the nose.

"Hey!" He raised a hand to his face and grimaced when he detected a drop of blood there.

"Phregging bird," he swore, as he rose from his makeshift bed, and glared at his miniscule attacker.

The bird, for its part, was unperturbed, as it burrowed into the depths of the foliage which had cradled him. There, safe and undisturbed, lay a tiny nest, enclosing three pastel eggs.

Obi-Wan grinned and spread his hands in surrender. "OK, my mistake. You were obviously here first."

The young Jedi walked to the edge of the drop-off and gazed at the panorama spread out before him. The sun rode low on the eastern horizon and painted the landscape with chiaroscuro patterns of rosy dawn light and lavender pre-dawn shadow. In distant mountains, the first direct rays of light sparked brilliant sunbursts from the snow still capping the highest peaks, as the unmistakable verdant green of reawakening life colored the valley below him. A swarm of tiny insects, garnet and jade-winged, spun around him as he stood transfixed by the sweep of aching loveliness laid out for his pleasure.

Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and heard the subliminal harmony of the Force singing in his blood. _This is perfect. The perfect place for him._

The Force seemed to gather around him as he prepared himself for the climb, and he smiled at another scrap of memory. Qui-Gon had always taken great delight in teasing his oh-so-sensitive padawan by remarking that Obi-Wan was so bright with the Force that he virtually glowed. This morning, he could almost believe it.

Once he had stripped down to leggings and undertunic, exchanged his boots for climbing shoes, loaded the necessary equipment and supplies into his pack, checked the plethora of useful items in his utility belt, and secured his light saber, he retrieved the urn which contained the ashes that were all that remained of his beloved Master. He handled it reverently. He knew, intellectually, that his Master was not really present in the ashes, but knowing it and feeling it were two entirely different things.

He placed the urn in his pack, and stood for a moment in quiet contemplation. A tremulous smile touched his face. "Our last walk together, Master," he whispered, and swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. _When,_ he wondered, _will it get easier? When will it not hurt so much?_

With a visible bracing of his shoulders, he approached the rock face and gazed up at the sheer façade of the cliff. Suddenly touched by an unexpected frisson of anticipation, he grinned, and gently tapped the pack over the spot where he had stowed the urn. "Hey," he said softly, almost, but not quite embarrassed at his own whimsy, "catch me if I fall."

Taking a deep breath, he leapt upward, drawing on the Force to extend his reach, and found his first handhold some four meters above his starting point. The stone beneath his fingers felt uncomfortably chalky, but it held as he dug in and looked for his next hold. "I can do this," he muttered, disregarding the fact that he had never made this climb alone, and opened himself fully to the Force, to allow it to guide and supplement his own strength.

Three hours later, scratched, bruised, soaked with sweat in the growing warmth of the day, caked with dust, and trying not to think about the number of close calls he had encountered during his progress, he paused to look upward and found that he was just a few meters below the edge of the plateau. With a sigh of relief, he realized that the soft crumbling rock surface was now below him. Above stretched a broad expanse of rough granite, crowned with a cascade of the pendulous orchid blossoms.

Obi-Wan eyed the plateau's rim speculatively and debated his next move. Slow and steady - and safe - or a Force-augmented leap, a show-off move that he would never allow his own Padawan to use.

But it couldn't really be considered a show-off move, if no one was around to show off to. Could it? And he admitted to some small measure of curiosity. He had done it during his desperate confrontation with the Sith, but he had never done anything like that before. Had never even tried it, and didn't know of anyone else who had either. The question of whether or not it was a one-time fluke - or a repeatable maneuver - was like an itch, growing ever more intense.

It needed scratching.

He hesitated. He was a Jedi Master now, with a Padawan of his own. The thrill of the moment should have no appeal for him.

 _But your Padawan isn't here._ The little voice always seemed to come to him at the most inopportune moments. _And you never had a chance to find out what it was like to be a knight. Just a knight, without a Master to answer to, or a Padawan to care for. Not even for one day. Aren't you just a little curious?_

He tried to ignore the voice.

It would not be ignored. _Didn't you ever want to fly?_

Ultimately, he closed his eyes, gathered the Force around him - and leapt.

When he decided that he needed to see where he was going and opened his eyes, he found that he had not only sprung upward to clear the plateau's lip; he had soared beyond it, and the ground was now coming up fast. Hastily, he grabbed for a tendril of the Force to slow his descent, and missed.

Fortunately, he landed in a cluster of small shrubs that managed to cushion his fall, without inflicting injury beyond a new selection of scratches and another set of rips in his already-shredded clothing.

He disengaged himself from the thorny foliage with a small chuckle. "Definitely needs work," he muttered.

He shucked the various packs, belts, and accessories he was carrying and discarded his tunic as well, which, by this time, was little more than a tattered rag. He would take with him only his light saber and the small pack in which the urn was stowed.

He then allowed himself a few minutes to stand quietly, absorbing the kiss of golden sunlight on his skin, and the total serenity that only comes from the security of complete solitude.

* * * * * * * * * *

_He had looked very young while he slept, incredibly long eyelashes dusting cheeks of pale gold. His breath, warm and soft, had stirred the tendrils of vine that lay against his face, and dried the dew from trembling azure blossoms. Once or twice, as he had moved in his sleep, waxy petals had caressed his jaw and kissed his brow._

_His ascent of the cliff face had revealed that he had capabilities not immediately evident in his appearance. He was neither overly large nor heavily muscled, but his agility and strength were quite remarkable, and he obviously had access to resources not available to most beings. That final leap to the rim of the plateau had been nothing short of astonishing._

_He stood now, apparently basking in the sunlight. His clothing was well beyond saving, torn, ragged, and filthy, but he still wore it regally. It seemed that he was as comfortable in such rags as he would be in regal robes. No, that wasn't quite right; it appeared that he would simply not notice what he wore, one way or the other. Obviously, he cared little for what covered his body; it was the body itself - and the mind that drove it - that mattered._

_It would have been easy to kill him as he slept, maybe. Or maybe that power that he summoned so effortlessly would have risen up to defend him, even in the depths of slumber._

_But he had posed no real threat so far, so maybe it would not be necessary to kill him after all. And, despite his grimy condition, he was really quite pleasant to look at._

_Waiting would be best. Waiting to see what he would do next and to learn why he had come here._

* * * * * * * *

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and shook off a creeping lethargy. The growing warmth of the air, the distant roar of the waterfalls, and the soporific whisper of a gentle breeze through the trees behind him - all conspired to remind him that he had slept very little in recent days. Indeed, he couldn't remember the last time he had completely surrendered his consciousness to slumber, relinquishing even the Force-enhanced awareness that continued to function in the shallow levels of sleep.

"Tomorrow," he murmured. Then he remembered Anakin's unquenchable thirst for learning, and the level of impatience that accompanied it. "Maybe."

The sun was almost directly overhead as he heaved a deep sigh, and turned to face the interior of the plateau. Though safely atop the formation, he still had some little distance to go before reaching the spot he had in mind. He estimated an additional three to four kilometers lay between him and his final destination.

Leaving his gear secured in the fork of a great tree, he took a few minutes to stretch and loosen up his muscles before taking off at a comfortable run. Though the deep shade of the towering bindium trees, with their fernlike foliage edged with gleams of bronze, and the tangle of the ubiquitous orchid vines successfully deflected and refracted the warmth of the sunlight, it also served to preserve a deep layer of humidity at ground level. In addition, it blocked most of the slight wind that might have served to cool his body by evaporating the sweat that soon saturated his clothing, plastered his hair to his head, and ran down his face to pool in his eyes. The only way to remedy the problem, he reasoned, was to go faster, and allow the wind of his passage to dissipate the heat. Obi-Wan grinned. It had been too long - much too long - since he'd had a good run.

He accelerated smoothly and was conscious of the changes in his body as it answered his call for greater power and speed. With Jedi discipline that he didn't even have to think about, the athlete within him surged to the forefront of his consciousness, and the result was the exquisitely efficient combination of all the parts of his physique working in tandem to produce the result he wanted. Heart and lungs pumping, muscles expanding and contracting, sinews stretching, blood singing with increased levels of life-giving oxygen; by the time he emerged from the jungle growth to find himself on the lip of a steep precipice that jutted out over the magnificent waterfall, he had achieved a state of near euphoria, signaling a complete, almost symbiotic harmony between his body and his environment.

It was a Jedi thing.

He virtually slid to a stop bare centimeters from the edge of the drop-off, stretched his arms above his head and gave voice to a wordless shout directed out across the abyss, in a futile attempt to be heard above the bone-pounding roar of the deluge beneath him.

He was still for a few moments, allowing his heart to slow to a leisurely rhythm. Then he turned and made his way up the incline to the exact spot he had selected as his final goal for this errand. It was a wind-blasted formation, shaped a bit like a squat bench, situated at the very end of the narrow precipice, stretching across a deep crevice in the stone to form a natural bridge from one precipitous vantage point to another, equally steep and inhospitable. He climbed to it easily, careful to avoid a fresh fall of small stones clustered around its base. When he was comfortably astride the span, he paused to remember the last time he had been here. 

First he remembered the absolute horror on his Master's face as the apprentice, displaying a youthful rashness that he seldom indulged, had run across the span with the agility and utter lack of timidity of a mountain gotle. The Master had gone as white as a slab of Correlian marble and had seemed to have trouble drawing breath for some moments after his Padawan had landed safely at his side. Obi-Wan still wasn't sure, but he thought maybe his Master had come painfully close at that moment to dragging his apprentice across his knee and applying just the perfect degree of correction - by administering large Jedi hand to not-so-large Padawan bottom. And the fact that the Padawan in question had been twenty-two years old at the time would have made no difference at all.

The young Jedi smiled. "You never did it, but I know you wanted to, sometimes."

He drew the urn from the small pack that still hung on his shoulder, and studied how the sun's brilliance touched the enameled surface with glints of fire.

For a little while, he just sat, allowing the peace of his surroundings to soak into his awareness. Then he gathered his thoughts - or, at least, he tried to. 

He tried to find the words to say good-bye, and it mattered not in the least that his voice was inaudible below the thunder of the falls.

"How do I tell you what you meant to me? And how do I go on living knowing I should have said so many things when I had the chance? I waited too long, and now you'll never hear them."

He paused, and searched his heart. "I'll keep my promises, Master, and I'll do the best I can to do what you would have done. But I'm not you, and I'm not ready. I think you knew that. You just didn't have any other choice."

Tears welled in his eyes as he stared down into the roiling cascades below him. "I know what you did, and I know why. But you should have asked me, Master. I wanted to go with you. Would that have been so bad? Now I'm here alone, and I don't think I can do what you want me to do."

With a lack of his characteristic grace, he jerked the lid off of the urn and allowed the ashes to fall into the torrent below. He watched as the handful of powder vanished into the mist, and his head sank to his chest. "I love you, Master. And I miss you. And I'd give anything to bring you back. I know I have to let you go, but I don't know how."

He closed his eyes, and allowed his grief to overwhelm his senses as he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his body around the anguish in his heart.

Some minutes passed before he stirred. As he shifted his position, he was surprised to find himself a little disoriented, and he wavered slightly, much too near the lip of the abyss to be moving without certainty. Again, he remembered the fear in his Master's eyes. "You should have smacked me," he said softly.

A murmur of sound - unidentifiable - twisted around him, and he raised his head to see an arc of rainbow luster flicker in the mist beneath his feet. Within the arc was a curious brilliance that seemed to float independent of its surroundings. It had to be a reflection of something, but he couldn't see what.

But it didn't matter anyway. It was time to go - time to let go of the past and embrace the future. If he could.

One final tear traced down his cheek. "I love you, Master," he sighed.

And was transfixed as a pale, translucent hand reached out and wiped the tear away. _And I love you , my Padawan._

He almost - almost - tumbled from his precarious perch as he recoiled from a glowing image that was rapidly growing clearer and sharper before his very eyes. 

"It can't be," he murmured, edging backwards.

And he heard a sound (and never mind that he shouldn't have been able to hear anything over the tumult below) that tore into his heart like a barbed lance - the gentle laughter that he had thought never to hear again.

 _But it is, Padawan._ It was Qui-Gon's voice, unmistakably, but it was in his mind. Wasn't it?

He grabbed and held fiercely to his sanity as he looked up and gazed into midnight blue eyes, transparent now in the sunlight, glowing with love and laughter. _You're right._ said the beloved voice. _I should have smacked you._

Obi-Wan leapt to his feet, all caution forgotten. "Are you real?"

Qui-Gon smiled. _As real as you are, my Obi-Wan. And if you don't get down off this rock - right now - I _will_ smack you, and show you just how real I am, and I don't care how big you think you are._

The image of the Jedi Master moved away from his apprentice toward more solid ground, and Obi-Wan followed. "How can this be?" he asked, obviously bewildered.

It was as if Qui-Gon had not heard the question, as if his eyes could not see enough of his Padawan, could not absorb enough of the sight of him. Obi-Wan felt featherlight fingers stroke his face and ripple his hair.

 _I'd forgotten,_ Qui-Gon continued softly, _how bright you are, Padawan. How filled with light and life._

Obi-Wan shuddered, and his voice with raw with pain. "How can you be here? I saw you die. You're not here. I've . . ." He gulped for air. "I've lost my mind."

Hesitantly, as if afraid to trust the evidence of his senses, he reached out and touched the face of the image that hovered before him. His hand encountered a resistance which was both more and less than he expected. There was definitely something there, but it was not the flesh of his Master as he knew it.

_Padawan._

"You're not real," Obi-Wan insisted. "You're not here."

_Close your eyes, Padawan._

He resisted briefly, then did as he was bid. He was too accustomed to obeying that rich, vibrant voice to resist for long. And in the intimacy of that darkness, he felt himself encircled by familiar arms and enfolded in a well-remembered loving embrace.

"Master," he breathed, not understanding, but accepting nevertheless. Accepting because every particle of his mind and body so desperately longed for this moment to be more than a psychotic delusion.

 _Yes, Padawan. I am here. Though I can no longer be part of your physical world, I am still part of the Force that surrounds you._ The Master pulled back and regarded his apprentice with warmth and pride. _And, by the Gods, Child, you have no idea how beloved of the Force you are._

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

They sat finally in a tiny glade dappled with golden coins of sunlight and floored with drifts of coral and saffron-colored spring blossoms, like snowdrops. A crystalline pool reflected the gentle stir of foliage in an intermittent breeze, as well as the image of a young Jedi knight, but, strangely enough, not that of his companion. In an arrangement reminiscent of their long years together, the Master sat on a low boulder with his apprentice cross-legged on the ground before him.

And they talked - and talked - and talked more. And never strayed more than an arm's length from each other. The tactile sensations that each experienced were less fulfilling than either might have desired, but a great deal more than either had ever expected to experience again.

The not-quite-solid image of Qui-Gon Jinn reached, more than once, for the Padawan braid that no longer coiled around Obi-Wan's throat. Eyes of incredibly intense blue spoke more eloquently than words, in grieving for the loss of the boy who had been, in the birth of the man who was becoming.

Too soon, for both, too soon, Qui-Gon sighed and fixed his apprentice with a look of bottomless tenderness. _Time grows short, my Padawan. There are things I must tell you._

For the space of a heartbeat, Obi-Wan looked like a lost child again. "But why, Master? If you . . ."

Qui-Gon shook his head and, for the first time, Obi-Wan noticed that his Master seemed more ephemeral, less solid than he had earlier.

 _I had to come to you, Obi-Wan,_ he said softly. _I had to see you, touch you, once more. But I don't know if I'll ever be able to do it again. It is - difficult._

The young knight's face was touched with alarm. "Has this caused you harm, Master?"

Qui-Gon's chuckle was like balm to a wounded soul. _No matter how you say it, Padawan, the truth is that I am no longer among the living. I don't think there is much that could 'harm' me, at this point. But it has required a great deal of energy and concentration. And the more time that goes by, the greater the distance between where I am and where you are. I don't know if I'll be capable of bridging the gap - again._

Obi-Wan reached out and grasped his Master's hands. "So I won't see you again?" he whispered.

Qui-Gon's eyes once more seemed to try to devour his Padawan's image. _I don't know, Child. I may not be able to come to you like this. And I have this incredible urge to burn your image into my brain, to carry it with me through all the long years. But I do know this much: I will be with you. I may not be able to manifest visibly, or to effect what happens around you, but I_ will _be there with you. Always._

"Master," Obi-wan said tentatively, his breath shallow and unsteady, "can you see . . .". He paused, uncertain of how to continue.

But Qui-Gon understood his meaning immediately, and smiled as he laid his hand on his Padawan's shoulder. _Unfortunately, becoming one with the Force doesn't expand the abilities one had in life. I'm no more of a prophet today, than I was before. The future remains unknown to me._ He studied Obi-Wan's face. _But you see something. Don't you?_

Obi-Wan nodded, his eyes bleak and shadowed. "Darkness, Master. And great suffering. And I . . . I think it will be because of me."

 _No._ Qui-Gon's tone brooked no argument. _I need not see the future to know that to be wrong. It's not possible._

"But I don't know what to do," whispered the young knight. "I'm not ready."

 _You are ready, Obi-Wan._ The Master's eyes shone with love and pride. _You said earlier that I only chose you because I had no other options. Do you really believe that?}_

Obi-Wan covered his face with his hands and shuddered, unable to reply.

 _Hear me, Padawan._ It was the ages-old signal from Master to Padawan that something of great importance and undeniable truth was about to be spoken. _This is why I came to you today. A great task awaits you, a task that you alone may complete. If you cannot do it, no one can. You must know this, Child. If you cannot succeed,_ no one can _. You are the hope of the Jedi. And if you cannot accomplish this task, it simply cannot be done, by anyone._

Obi-Wan shifted until he was kneeling at the Master's feet. "I'm afraid, Master," he admitted, very softly.

Qui-Gon's eyes brimmed with tenderness. _I know, my Padawan. And with cause. But you must believe in yourself. You must know what I know. I cannot promise that you will make no mistakes, but I can promise this much. Your actions will never be tainted with darkness. I need no visionary gifts to know that._

"But . . ."

_Look at me, Obi-Wan._

Qui-Gon had to fight to avoid allowing his concern to show in his face, as he gauged the degree of vulnerability in his Padawan's eyes, shaded green by the forest's light. _Your greatest strength is your capacity for love and compassion. You must take care that it is not perverted to become your greatest weakness. To love is to give hostages to fate. But know this much, if nothing else. There is no darkness in you, Child. None. And even I, with all my so-called strength in the living Force, never realized how rare that is. You must trust your heart, and it will show you the way._

"Yes, Master. I'll try - I mean, I'll remember."

Qui-Gon rose.

"Wait," said Obi-Wan, his voice raw with desperation.

The Master smiled. _Moments only, now, Padawan._

"Are you happy, Master?"

And Qui-Gon heard the conflicting emotions hidden in those simple words. Obi-Wan wanted his Master to be content; he really did. But a part of him - more child than adult, perhaps - also wanted Qui-Gon to regret the loss of their life together. He sighed. _I am at peace, Padawan._

"Are you alone?"

The sigh became a gentle smile. _No. I am not alone._

And he was rewarded with something he had not seen in far too long as Obi-Wan responded with a brilliant smile, the one he seldom displayed, the one that was an expression of pure joy. It was an image the Master would carry with him through the years. "Tahl," said the Padawan softly.

_Yes._

"Oh, Master, that's wonderful. I'm so happy for you."

A fleeting shadow darkened Qui-Gon's eyes, as he remembered the prophecy related to him by Master Yoda, concerning Obi-Wan's future. His heart twisted within him as he contemplated what his Padawan would be forced to endure. He would not - could not - speak of it now. To live through it would be hard enough for his apprentice; to sacrifice any possibility of happiness in the anticipation of what was to come, would needlessly compound the pain.

Qui-Gon leant forward and placed his pale hands on either side of his Padawan's face. _We are happy together, my Obi-Wan. But our family is incomplete, as it will continue to be, until you are with us again. When the time comes, know that we will be waiting._

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and was once more engulfed in the essence of his Master. He felt an overwhelming urge to follow wherever Qui-Gon would lead. The idea of going into the Force with the man who had led him through all the paths of his journey to adulthood seemed somehow appropriate. "Take me with you," he whispered.

He felt the ghost of a kiss on his brow, and heard something that might have been the soft breath of a breeze - or might have been the echo of a sigh. 

_Someday,_ it said.

It was some minutes before he opened his eyes, knowing that he was once more alone in the glade. And yet, not quite. Something remained, as it would remain for the rest of his Jedi existence. He would never be sure if it was a genuine remnant of his Master's spirit that settled deep into his consciousness, or simply some form of a psychic security blanket that he had tucked away in an obscure corner of his heart, stubbornly refusing to relinquish this one last, miniscule souvenir of his childhood. And, in the end, it didn't matter, for he would never again feel quite so alone as he had before, and never again be left to wonder if he had been abandoned in his need by those he loved most.

He was mildly disoriented again, as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. It was almost as if he had just wakened from a deep sleep. Yet somehow he knew that this had been no dream, conjured from the depths of his need. A trace of his Master's aura seemed to linger in the air, like a faint fragrance. And it was as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

All of his life, from his earliest memories through this moment and throughout the march of years yet to come, Obi-Wan Kenobi would assume burdens far beyond the reach of his influence. And if such a tendency made him vulnerable to the depredations of guilt, it also gave him the capacity to strive for greatness, beyond the comprehension of lesser beings. It would be both bane and blessing. But, for this brief respite, he was free of it; his Master had removed the great weight of responsibility. To be sure, it would return; it was simply his nature. But not before he had sufficient time to heal from wounds that might have ultimately proven to be mortal, without these few moments of 'miraculous' intervention.

One last tear spilled from his eyes, as he smiled. "Thank you, Master," he said softly. "I won't forget."

As he stooped to gather his discarded pack, he became aware of the lateness of the hour. The light of the sun had begun to redden, the rays slanting through the forest growth at an acute angle, as the air grew chill. He knelt by the spring-fed pool in the glade to splash water on his face, and froze when he detected a disturbance in the Force.

He felt a tingling at the back of his neck as he rose, and his light saber was in his hand, ignited, before he had an inkling of what might be wrong.

He peered into the foliage across the pool from his position, but could discern nothing in the growing shadows.

But he moved silently to his left, to avoid being trapped between the pool, and the tumble of stones on which Qui-Gon had sat. There was only a whisper of movement in the underbrush, but there was definitely something there.

The ear-splitting howl that shattered the silence of the glade was drowned out by the voice in his mind.

_Run, Padawan. Now!_

And as he had for as long as he could remember, he obeyed that voice.

There was only one direction open to him, as the sounds that were now wreaking havoc in the jungle growth were coming from the interior of the plateau. He ran back toward the falls, sprinting now, eyes scanning constantly for a haven from whatever was pursuing him.

And he thought he might know just what it was that chased after him, as an image of a great beast with a long snout and a mouthful of needle sharp teeth rose in his mind. It was a vision of nightmare that he had encountered once before on this primitive world, and one that he had hoped never to encounter again.

Malia! The very word seemed fraught with sinister foreboding.

The only question, he pondered as he ran, was how the pack had managed to climb the plateau. Somehow, he couldn't quite picture the savage beasts standing on each other's shoulders for a boost.

Nevertheless, however they had managed it, they appeared to be here, and he knew he could never fight off the entire pack. They were too fast and too canny. So flight was his only option.

All too soon, he arrived back at the precipice fronting on the furious cascade of water, and was forced to face a hard truth. There was no safe haven - no niche that he could reach that could not also be accessed by his pursuers.

He eased his way out onto the span over the crevasse, his eyes trying desperately to look in many directions at once. He saw flashes of fluorescent green in the foliage from which he had just emerged, and knew the moment was at hand when he would have to make a choice. Stand and fight (and lose, he admitted to himself) or take flight - literally. He peered into the mist of the waterfall, trying to discern the terrain beneath its surface. Off to his right, twenty meters or so below him, he thought he saw what might have been a pool, poised on the lip of one of the ledges. There was no way of knowing how deep it was (or even, he thought ruefully, that it was really there at all, and not just a curious trick of the failing light).

He looked back toward the jungle and saw the first of his attackers racing toward him.

Time's up, he thought. And, in one graceful motion, spun and launched himself into the air, trusting to the Force, some small trace of the luck he was not supposed to believe in, and, just maybe, a lingering fragment of his Master's will to propel him beyond the jagged outcroppings around him and into what he hoped would be a basin deep enough to cushion his fall.

And he would have made it perfectly, with room to spare, except that the wild pack pursuing him, in the frenzy of their frustration in losing their prey, managed to dislodge a small avalanche of loose stones from the cliff, some of them the size of brinkle melons. One of them fell straight and true, and reached Obi-Wan's target pool at the exact same moment that he did. Unfortunately, it reached it at the exact same spot as the base of his skull. When he sank beneath the icy, swirling waters, bruised and bleeding, he was quite unconscious. 

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Romy, the (Slightly) Green Fairy

If an observer had hovered above the great waterfall on Ragoon 6 for a number of hours on that fateful day, he would have noted several curious phenomena. Within the framework of the formation, which was basically a series of steep, jagged steps descending from the rim of a tall, rocky plateau, there were a few anomalous areas which appeared, initially, to defy the laws of physics. How could it be, for instance, at three different spots, on three different levels, that there was a periodic lowering of the water levels within specific areas, despite the unrelenting deluge from above? And by what curious circumstance was the tremendous velocity and power of the current challenged and interrupted by small but determined maelstroms in all three of these narrowly confined areas?

The answer would not have been visible to the naked eye of the observer, unless that eye was very sharp, very focused, and very fast. The answer was a footnote in the history of the planet.

For a thousand years or more, the area around the great waterfall had been tectonically stable, but in eons past, such had not been the case. The great plateau had been subjected to massive quakes over a march of centuries, and the granite base had been fractured and shifted over time. Initially the cracks formed had been infinitesimal, but the effect had been exacerbated over the years, until, finally, in a few places, cracks had widened and deepened and become funnel-like channels, delving into the heart of the plateau and resulting in a series of concealed caverns that riddled the great stone behemoth. Above those narrow chutes, the surface of the basins that formed the mouths of the funnels spasmed periodically to form great, irresistible whirlpools that dragged everything within their limits into the depths.

Including the limp form of one brand spanking new Jedi knight. Though he had been revived somewhat by the breathtaking chill of the crystalline water as he was pulled downward, the solid contact between his head and the rock-lined entrance to the subterranean passage had sent him once more spiraling down into unrelenting blackness. 

Luckily, the speed with which the water - and everything it carried - traversed the steep channel resulted in a minimum of time lost between entering and exiting the passage.

He came to rest against a slab of dark-veined stone in a tiny offshoot from a larger cavern, in a sheltered spot in which the swiftness of the water was broken by a series of natural barriers. Thus the moderated current carried him to a drifting stop with surprising gentleness, and lapped softly against his face. Jedi instincts, which functioned surprisingly well, even independent of conscious thought, had thus far prevented him from inhaling enough water to drown him, but there was a limit to how long the body could continue in that mode.

At this point, he was almost completely submerged in the icy water, and the dark swelling at the base of his skull was virtually a twin to the more recent one at his left temple. He was rapidly approaching the point at which even Jedi abilities would be unable to overcome the odds, and was moments away from drowning, without ever having regained full consciousness.

The small figure that approached his recumbent form with extreme caution, and, after a pensive moment, bent over and dragged him from the current, seemed an unlikely candidate to take on the role of the hand of fate.

Though far beneath the surface of the plateau and equally far from the various exits from the system of caves, the natural chambers were not entirely dark, due to a measure of pallid light, produced by a species of phosphorescent lichen that grew in a fragmented patchwork in areas near the waterline. The small being who had just saved the life of a Jedi knight squatted near the water's edge and studied the newest arrival to this underground world. The roar of the torrent pouring through the caverns was almost deafening within the confined space, and a cloud of heavy mist swirled above the water's surface, coating everything with oily droplets. In addition, a tremendous stench permeated the air and hung particularly thick around the crouching figure. This was not a hospitable environment.

The Jedi lay sprawled on the rocks, a fine trickle of blood trailing from his temple to blend with the wetness beneath him. He had begun to shiver in the chill of the cave, and a faint bluish caste stained his lips and the area beneath his jawline.

Large amber-flecked eyes regarded him stolidly for some minutes. Obviously, a decision was required, but it was a decision the young knight's rescuer was not eager to make.

Finally, it was a matter of having no real choice. If the Jedi remained as he was, without any intervention, he would die. Within moments.

With a heavy sigh, arms that seemed too short and hands that seemed too small for the task, reached down and gripped the young man under his arms and dragged him away from the water's edge. His head lolled like that of a broken doll, and the jerky cadence of his progress undoubtedly did nothing to assuage the severity of his injuries, but the air grew warmer the further they got from the water, and his shivering seemed to abate to some degree.

Progress was extremely slow, and more than once, the rescuer was forced to stop for rest. In the end, it was determination rather than strength that allowed the two to reach a shallow alcove in a passageway that slanted upward from the cave in which the underground waterway flowed. Within the recess, there were signs of habitation, including a deep pile of dried leaves and straw that constituted a pallet, and assorted containers, brimming with a wealth of odds and ends, most unidentifiable in their current state. Plainly identifiable, however, to the discerning eye, was the Jedi utility belt, and the pack that had been earlier left 'secured' in the fork of a tree.

Obi-Wan did not stir as he was trundled into the makeshift bed, and the individual who had finally, with great effort, managed to get him there, sank to knees now weak and boneless, with a great sigh of weariness, well earned; for the person now occupying that rough pallet was roughly twice the height and breadth of the one who had put him there.

After a few heavy breaths, the small being departed from the alcove, moving with swift, sure feet, apparently unperturbed by either the almost non-existent light or the treacherous footing of wet stone. The Jedi remained motionless, except for the slight rise and fall of his chest, and an occasional tremor that might have been no more than a reaction to the chill of his surroundings, or might have been an outward manifestation of some fierce inner struggle. His rescuer came and went, pausing occasionally to study Obi-Wan's face, apparently loathe to interrupt his slumber. Only once did the small figure come close to the sleeping knight, to drop an armful of bunched fabric on the rough pallet. 

There was no real silence in the cavern. Though the roar of rushing water was somewhat attenuated by distance and intervening layers of stone, it was still quite audible, as well as evident in the sympathetic vibration of every surface within the cave. But somehow, all the sound seemed to blend into a seamless backdrop that was almost a different kind of silence - a soothing, humming nothingness that encouraged the sleeper to seek deeper levels of sleep. Particularly in light of the fact that a return to awareness would also mean a return to pain.

Obi-Wan lingered in a twilight emptiness, content, for the moment, to feel nothing. He was aware, at some level, that he was uncomfortably cold; that he really should wake up and do something about it, as well as address the persistent nagging notion that all was not well outside this little cocoon in which he floated. But the invitation to sink into the welcoming softness of deeper slumber was tremendously seductive; his was a bruised and battered soul, too recently mangled by events beyond his control to be eager to return to full consciousness. Though he had handled everything that life - and the Force - had thrown at him, he had had no time to grapple with his grief. In the days and weeks yet to come, he would begin to heal, but he was not there yet.

But no matter how attractive the siren's song of escapism, he was a Jedi, with all the emotional, mental and psychological baggage that went hand in glove with that identity. Avoiding reality - even when it became unbearable - was simply not an option.

When he opened his eyes, he spent several moments waiting for his perceptions to reconnect to the physical world, as he sought comfort and reassurance from the Force. He noted the conditions of his surroundings automatically, hardly bothering to acknowledge the excessive moisture, the uncomfortable chill, or the miasmic odor in the air. As always, when he reached for the Force, it was there for him, but there was a tiny element of disquiet, lurking just beneath its customary tranquility, that he could not identify. He touched it briefly, like exploring the gap of a missing tooth with a probing tongue, but finally put it down to his own disorientation and physical trauma. On the surface, it functioned just as it always did, just as he knew it would; it whispered to him, easing his concerns, augmenting his strength, telling him where he was and how he was and what lay around him. Including the small being who was kneeling nearby, calmly feeding bits of kindling into a sputtering campfire. Obi-Wan was careful to move slowly, as he sensed that the calm aura projected by this individual was a carefully crafted mask to camouflage great wariness. And yet, there was courage there, as well - an uncommon determination to face fear and deal with it, rather than flee to safer ground.

The young Jedi's initial move, slight and tentative as it was, demonstrated with no room for doubt that any movement - right now - was a mistake, a big one as indicated by the full-fledged explosion of pain that ripped through his temple.

Large, amber-shaded eyes seemed to twinkle in the dancing firelight. "Hurts, huh?"

Obi-Wan didn't bother re-opening his eyes. "You could say that."

Something dropped across the Jedi's torso, and he risked opening one eye - a tiny slit only - to identify his utility belt, now draped across his chest.

"Anything in there to help?"

Obi-Wan opened both eyes and peered at the face staring at him through the growing flames. But the flicker of the light concealed as much as it revealed of the boy's face. He was able to make out extremely pale skin, greenish in tint - if that wasn't simply an illusion of the light - and a mop of coppery hair framing enormous eyes, glinting sparks of honey gold around huge, dark pupils, and an impression of plentiful energy, barely held in check.

The Jedi cleared his throat painfully. "How did you . . ."

"Get all this?" The boy finished for him.

Obi-Wan nodded, and immediately regretted it.

The boy rose and rummaged in a familiar pack and offered Obi-Wan his own canteen, sloshing provocatively. "Finders, keepers around here, Mister."

Obi-Wan drank and then, despite the chill of the air, poured a measure of the cold water over his head, hoping to dispel the mental fog that seemed to be blunting his perceptions. Finally, he looked up at the boy, determined to regain his focus and to ignore the bass drummer currently banging away in his frontal lobe. "Who are you?" he asked firmly.

His small benefactor scooted around the fire - Obi-Wan had the impression that "scooting" or "darting" would always be more the boy's style than simply "moving" - and presented a grimy hand. "I'm Romy. Who are you?"

The Jedi took the proffered hand, and held his breath against the extremely potent odor that roiled around the boy. "I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi, and it seems you saved my life, Romy. I'm in your debt."

"No sweat," said Romy. "You warming up?"

Obi-Wan adjusted his body to burrow deeper into his pseudo-mattress and realized abruptly that it was his own Jedi cloak that was draped over him. He eyed Romy with a quizzical smile. "Tell me. Is there anything that belongs to me that you didn't retrieve?" He thought it would be somehow inappropriate to call the boy a thief, under the circumstances.

But Romy was apparently unperturbed, and grinned broadly. "Your ship is still there - mostly."

Obi-Wan laughed and discovered that his recently healed ribs were not quite so healed as he had believed. He concentrated on breathing carefully as he sat up. His head swam initially, but he waited it out, and it passed quickly. What was left was a brutal, but bearable, headache.

"Should you do that?" asked Romy, obviously uncertain. "You took a pretty good lick, you know."

Obi-Wan lifted a hand, held his breath, and straightened. "Nothing to it," he answered, gritting his teeth and ignoring the fact that he was as pale as mother's milk.

"Yeah. I can tell."

The young Jedi found himself smiling in response to the boy's infectious grin.

Crystal blue eyes swept the alcove, noting the assorted items that littered the chamber. "You live here?" Obi-Wan asked softly.

The boy's smile vanished. "Looks that way. Doesn't it?"

"By yourself?"

"What is this?" Romy snapped. "I haul your ass out of the muck, and that gives you the right to interrogate me?"

Obi-Wan noted the barely-restrained anger in the tone of voice, but Jedi senses also heard the intense fear lurking beneath the surface bravado.

"I didn't mean to interrogate you, Romy," he said gently. "It just seems a little strange for such a young boy to be living on his own."

"Yeah, well, I'm older than I look."

Obi-Wan was quiet for a time, enjoying the growing warmth of the fire while trying to ignore the nauseating stench. From beneath lowered lashes, he studied the boy's features carefully. He wasn't exactly sure if he had ever encountered a member of Romy's species before, although he saw some similarities to several mid-rim races. The combination of skin tinted a pale, silvery mint, large, almond-shaped eyes of liquid topaz with a decided upward tilt at the outer corners, small, sharp-tipped ears that lay almost flat against the head, a delicate little nub of a nose nestled between soaring cheekbones, an unmistakable kinetic quality, and a willowy stature that (he thought) disguised a wiry strength, was quite striking, so he didn't think he would have forgotten, had he ever seen it before. But of one thing he was relatively certain: whatever species the youngster might turn out to be, it was not a species native to Ragoon 6. He remembered all too well the bulky, barrel-chested, heavily furred beings encountered on this world when he and his Master had first made the acquaintance of the malia. Given the difference in size and muscular development, he thought it unlikely that Romy's people could have evolved in the same environment as those ponderous creatures and survived the experience.

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath. "There are food packets in my ship," he said quietly. "If you're hungry."

"I do OK," said the boy, slightly belligerant. "I'm a good hunter."

The Jedi sighed. The boy was not going to make this easy. "I'm sure you are, but why hunt it when you don't have to?"

"Maybe I like to hunt."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Suit yourself." He lifted his eyes to scan the heights of the cave above them, noting that the light of the fire penetrated little of the far reaches. "How far do these caves go?"

"As far as they need to," the boy replied, apparently not meaning to be cryptic. "You didn't need to climb the walls, you know. There was an entrance just below the place where you landed."

Obi-Wan frowned. How could that be? He had scanned the plateau, employing his Jedi senses, and found no suggestion of caverns or inner passages.

Romy wrinkled his nose and cocked his head to stare at the Jedi as if to ask a question. "You didn't 'majik' them, did you?"

"Majik?" Obi-Wan repeated. "What does that mean?"

The boy shrugged, and adjusted the poncho-like cape that covered him from chin to knees. "It's what people like you do, isn't it?"

"People like me?"

"Um-hmm. People like you. The ones that see things no one else sees."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened as he studied the boy's face, but Romy was very skilled at evading eye contact, when he so chose. "How do you know I see things no one else does?"

The boy spun suddenly and regarded the young Jedi with accusing eyes. "Who were you talking to?"

But Obi-Wan wasn't going to be interrogated either, and simply ignored the question. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing here, Romy? And don't insult my intelligence by pretending to be some kind of free spirit hermit who ran away to find himself."

Romy's lip curled with insolence. "Think you're pretty smart, don't you?"

Obi-Wan shook his head wearily. "Just observant." He reached over, and pulled a scrap of flexible metal from one of the hodgepodge of containers that lined the walls of the chamber. It was just a fragment of a bigger piece, and almost impossible to identify. But what was printed across it was clear enough. 

R-O-M-Y was spelled out in galactic basic. It was obvious that there should have been more letters, both before and after, but there was no way to determine what they might have been.

Obi-Wan's voice was infinitely gentle, but the softness served to mask the barest trace of Jedi compulsion. "Tell me the truth, Romy. That's not your real name, is it? Do you even know your real name?"

And the boy seemed to collapse in on himself, as if his anger and determination had been all that was keeping him upright.

"No," he sighed, barely audible. "I don't know my name."

"Or how you got here?"

"Not really. I mean, I know - I guess - but I don't remember it."

"Remember what?"

The boy drew a deep shuddering breath. "There's an escape pod. In the jungle up on the plateau. I don't remember landing in it, but I must have. That's where I woke up."

"How long have you been here?"

But the boy shook his head. "I don't know. You lose track, after a while."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Weeks? Months?"

Romy remained silent.

The Jedi felt an ache in his heart as he noted how still the boy had become. "Not years, surely?"

"I don't think so," said Romy finally. "But I can't be sure. There's not much to mark the passage of time around here."

Obi-Wan impulsively reached out and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. "And you've been alone, all that time?"

Romy tried to smile, but couldn't quite pull it off. "Safer that way. The only people I've seen here weren't exactly the friendly type."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yeah. I remember."

The boy's eyes narrowed. "I was sure you'd been here before. You ready to tell me why you came back?"

The Jedi's smile said that he knew a deliberate change of subject when he heard one. "Soon," he answered. "So you have no memories from before you came here?"

Romy shook his head. "Once in a while, I get . . . flashes. But they're just bits and pieces."

"People? Places?"

The boy's eyes were suddenly suspiciously bright.

"Okay," said Obi-Wan. "Let's leave that for now. You're an amazing boy, Romy. Just surviving, under these circumstances, is remarkable. How have you . . .". He paused, looking for a tactful way to put it.

"Avoided becoming dinner for your playmates out there?" Romy, obviously, was unconcerned with tact, as he promptly demonstrated by moving swiftly to the young Jedi's side and thrusting his arm up under Obi-Wan's nose.

Never before in his life had Obi-Wan been completely unable to mask his reaction to an external stimulus, but this time the effort was beyond him. The odor coming off the boy's skin and clothing hit him like a physical force, and was literally beyond description. The young knight recoiled, his eyes watering, then flushed scarlet as he realized that he had undoubtedly just insulted the person who had, within the last hour, saved his life.

But Romy, far from being offended, burst out laughing. "Gross, huh?"

Obi-Wan stared. "By the Force, what _is_ that?"

The boy continued to smile. "My secret weapon. I call it howler repellant."

Obi-Wan's head was throbbing again. "No offence, Romy, but could you move a little farther away?"

"Sure. Sorry. I guess I don't notice it so much any more. Which I know sounds impossible. When I first started using the stuff, I'd gag constantly. But it's amazing what a person can get used to. The stink gets to be bearable, when you realize that it's keeping you alive."

"I see your point," Obi-Wan replied with a smile, but he was careful to remain outside the reach of that incredible stench, insofar as it was possible. At the same time, the small distortion in the Force that he had sensed earlier was nagging at him again - closer now, though still nothing more than a minor nuisance. "So, how does this weapon work?"

"The howlers won't come near it. They hardly come into the caverns at all, and never in the areas where the smell is strongest." The boy was obviously pleased to impart what he considered a nugget of valuable information.

But alarm bells were clanging in Obi-Wan's head, almost as loudly as that damnably persistent bass drummer.

"Romy," he said softly, "what exactly is that smell, and where did you get it?"

But the boy wasn't yet sure that he wanted to surrender all his secrets to his new acquaintance. "Why? What difference does it make?"

"Think of it like this, my little friend. Picture the malia pack in your mind - the creatures you call howlers. OK?"

"OK. So?"

"So what in the cosmos could be big and bad enough to scare them off?"

Romy's eyes grew wide and round, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I never thought of that."

"So, what is it, and where did it come from?"

The boy crouched low and squirmed his way into a tiny niche in the wall, behind his rough pallet. Moments later, he emerged, carrying a battered box. He reached in and pulled out a handful of a dark, stringy substance. "It's this," he said dejectedly.

Obi-Wan picked up a piece of kindling and poked at the spongy mass, noting that the dark malodorous substance clung tenaciously to everything it touched.

"There are three places within the caverns where this stuff grows," said Romy. "That I know of."

Obi-Wan felt his headache worsen abruptly, as he was assailed with a growing sense of disorientation. His hand, when he raised it to rub his temple, was trembling.

"Romy," he said quietly, "I need you to do something for me. Would you take that substance out of here? Throw it away, as far as you can, please."

"Sure," said the boy, moving to comply.

"And hurry back," continued the Jedi calmly. "We may not have much time."

The boy went into the passageway and hurled the box into the depths of the caverns. The removal of the substance had an immediate and remarkable effect on the Jedi. Headache, disorientation, and trembling - all decreased dramatically.

"Now please remove your outer garments, and toss them out as well." 

Again, Romy obeyed, though not with quite so much alacrity. Once the voluminous, multi-pocketed pancho was discarded, the boy was left in a shapeless tunic and grubby leggings.

And as quickly and easily as that, the uneasiness that the Jedi had sensed in the Force was suppressed and diluted - not quite gone, but definitely more remote.

At the same time, Obi-Wan's sense of urgency increased. Abruptly, he remembered the loveliness of the dawn, and the pristine brilliance of snow-capped peaks. Suddenly, he had a very bad feeling about this.

"Romy," he said sharply, "since you've been here, on the planet, has the weather changed much?"

The boy screwed up his puckish face, lost in thought. "No," he said finally. "It's been pretty cold the whole time, until just a few days ago, anyway. I just figured this was one of those planets that don't have seasons."

"Oh, it has seasons, all right," Obi-Wan replied, remembering his geographical studies of the planet. "They're just exceptionally long. Right now, it's early spring."

Romy's expression said that he didn't find this information particularly fascinating. "So?"

Obi-Wan rose to his feet. He braced himself against the stone wall for a moment, before standing fully erect. Romy watched warily, obviously waiting for the young knight to fall flat on his face. But Jedi resourcefulness and tenacity refused to surrender to the weakness of the flesh.

"Those caves where you found your weapon, did you explore them?"

"Not really. They're really dark, and the black stuff is all over the place, like strings stretching from wall to wall."

_Strings,_ thought Obi-Wan. _Or webs._

"Romy, I need you to listen carefully. We need to do a couple of things, and we need to do them fast."

"Okay, but I don't get it. I've been here for a long time - months, at least - and nothing's bothered me."

Obi-Wan held the boy's gaze with crystal blue eyes that were suddenly stern with resolve. "Think, Romy. It's been winter the whole time you've been here."

"So what?"

"What happens in winter?"

The boy's face was a study in confusion. "I dunno. It snows, sometimes. It's cold."

Obi-Wan knelt among the plethora of boxes and containers that cluttered the recess and began to dig through the hodgepodge. "Think harder. What happens in caves?"

The boy shrugged. "It gets cold. Sometimes things come in to get warm. Sometimes, things . . . sleep." The horror dawning in those huge topaz eyes was painful to behold.

"Exactly. Things sleep, and, in spring, they wake up."

The boy swallowed - hard. "What . . .what are you doing?"

"This stuff all came from the escape pod. Right?"

"Yes."

The young Jedi unceremoniously dumped the contents of several containers into his backpack. "There might be clues in here, to help find your family. Once we get out of here."

"But where are we going?"

Obi-Wan paused and raised his hands to his nose. A gentle sniff confirmed what he already knew. "We have to get to my ship. But first, we have to get this smell off us."

"Why? Can't we just run for it?"

Obi-Wan sighed, holding on to his patience, barely. "Romy, if this stuff is what I think it is, we have to get it off, right now."

"What do you think it is?"

The young Jedi continued to dump odds and ends into his pack. "Do you know what pheromones are?"

"No."

"Good. Trust me when I say that you don't want to know. Do you have any soap?"

The boy fished a foil packet out of a rusted metal bin. "Not much left," he said.

"It'll have to do. You need to get in the water and soap yourself. Get as clean as you can, and don't put that tunic back on. Do you have other clothes?"

"Just a prayer robe. It's not very clean, but it doesn't smell."

"Fine. Now go, and hurry. I'll follow you in a minute."

"There's a natural hot spring," said the boy as he moved away. "Go to your left when you get to the water's edge, and you'll come to it."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Hurry - we're running out of time."

Romy turned to go, then hesitated. He reached into a deep pocket in his tunic, and, when he turned back toward the Jedi, there was a slender silver and black cylinder in his hand. "I think this must be yours," he said slowly, not meeting Obi-Wan's eyes.

The young knight reached out and retrieved his lightsaber - the very same lightsaber that had once hung at his Master's side. "Thank you, Romy," he said gently, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought I had lost it. Now go."

When the boy had disappeared down the passageway, Obi-Wan sank to his knees on the straw pallet and stretched out with his senses, calling on the Force to augment his perceptions. His first sensation, the one that informed him that he was suffering from a mild concussion - again, he ignored; he stretched further, and winced as a strange discordant whine rose in his mind. It was vaguely reminiscent of the sound of lightsabers clashing, only more strident. It literally set his teeth on edge, resonating throughout his body. He continued to probe, despite steadily increasing discomfort. When he finally opened his eyes and released his grip on the Force, he had the answers he had sought, after a fashion.

Moving quickly now, he finished stuffing his pack and hurried to find Romy.

* * * * *

The cave in which the natural spa was located smelled faintly of sulphur, and Obi-Wan was not displeased. Anything that would serve to counter the odor of the black strands was welcome.

Romy had already bathed when the young Jedi arrived and had donned a long, thick gray robe. His old clothes, he had tossed into the torrent of the main waterway. As the child hopped from boulder to boulder, looking for a dry surface on which to sit, Obi-Wan was struck again with the ease and grace of his movements, despite an almost bird-like quickness.

"You don't smell of it - much," said Romy.

Obi-Wan quickly shucked his clothing, and deliberately ignored Romy's quick-drawn breath at the sight of his nude body. He didn't have time to explain the masses of bruises and scars that marked his torso. "Any at all, is too much," he said. "Soap?"

There wasn't much light in this area, as the luminous lichen was limited here to small patches near the entrance to the main cavern. But there was enough for Obi-Wan to catch a glimpse of Romy's eyes in the semi-darkness, as the boy stared at the Jedi. Obi-Wan assumed that it was fear that caused the frozen expression on the boy's face as he tossed the soap packet into the pool.

Briskly, Obi-Wan plunged into the warm water and lathered himself. He emerged dripping just moments later to find that Romy had retrieved another of his possessions. In place of his sodden climbing shoes, which were now shredded beyond recovery, stood his leather boots, dry and extremely welcome. Romy sat on a nearby boulder, watching quietly as Obi-Wan got dressed.

"You're a Jedi," said the boy slowly. "Aren't you?"

Obi-Wan's answer was a non-answer. "I thought you didn't remember anything."

"I don't - much. But I remember what that means, anyway. You are, aren't you?"

"Yes. I'm a Jedi."

Romy hugged his knees to his chest. "So can you get us out of here?"

Obi-Wan regarded the boy solemnly, debating the wisdom of complete candor.

"I hope so, Romy. But there is great danger."

"Like what?"

Obi-Wan sighed as he clasped his utility belt around his waist and fastened his lightsaber to it. "In at least one of those caverns where you gathered your 'howler repellent', there's a creature. At least one. And I can't tell what kind of creature, because it seems to have the ability to block access to the Force. That's why I couldn't detect the presence of these caves when I first arrived."

"And this thing - it's been sleeping up until now? Is it awake?"

"Maybe not entirely, but, if not, it soon will be. We have no time to waste."

"One of those caves . . ." The boy hesitated.

"Yes."

"We have to pass near it, to get to your ship."

"I know."

Something beyond the obvious was still bothering the boy. "What else?" Obi-Wan prodded.

"Your ship is small."

"And?"

Romy's eyes were suddenly gleaming with moisture. "It'll only take one."

But Obi-Wan shook his head. "Wrong. It'll only take one - comfortably. But it'll take two."

"But it's made for one. It won't support both of us."

Obi-Wan reached down and pulled the boy to his feet. "It'll support two, for long enough. But first, we have to get there. Now let's go."

* * * * * *

The caverns that lay beneath the great plateau were deep and spacious, but the faults and passageways that connected them sometimes were not. As Romy and Obi-Wan made their way toward the exit that would take them to the Jedi's ship, the young knight had good cause, for once, to be grateful for his own lack of brawn. In several spots, they were forced to work their way through extremely tight openings, sometimes on their bellies, sometimes in total darkness.

But Romy was intimately acquainted with the underground maze and never faltered in his certainty that this was the fastest and shortest route to the ship, if not always the most easily navigated.

In something less than an hour, they emerged from a narrow slit, negotiated a constricted natural stairwell, and stepped onto a slender ledge, bordered by a steep drop off. Obi-Wan deliberately dislodged a handful of loose stones, and listened carefully as they fell into the abyss. It was several seconds before he heard a distant clatter.

When he turned to look at Romy, to remark on the need to stay close to the wall, the boy's face, backlit by a patch of the bioluminescent lichen, wore a look of uncertainty.

"What is it?" Obi-Wan asked softly. "We're not lost, are we?"

"No. We're just a couple hundred meters from the exit. But the black cave is just ahead of us, and something doesn't feel right. Something's different."

Obi-Wan, in true Jedi fashion, never discounted such feelings. "Close your eyes," he directed, "and try to visualize what it is that seems different to you."

Romy nodded, and his brow furrowed in concentration. He was silent for a span of seconds, then his eyes opened very wide. "It's the smell. It's changed. It's more . . . intense. I know that's not very specific. But that's how it feels."

Obi-Wan merely nodded. He knew all too well that things sometimes defied definition in words, but were perfectly real nevertheless. Without a conscious thought, he suddenly found his lightsaber in his hand, though not ignited. He didn't want to attract the attention of whatever might be lying in wait for them, although his instincts were screaming that this was a futile hope. Whatever "it" might prove to be - this thing that his Jedi senses could not detect - "it" seemed to have no such problem detecting him. 

"Get behind me," he whispered, carefully maneuvering on the narrow ledge to take the lead. "And stay there, no matter what."

Romy offered no argument, although a brief surge of rebelliousness flared in his eyes. It was, however, too dark for the Jedi to notice. Still, the boy did as he was bid, moving carefully at Obi-Wan's shoulder.

The Jedi advanced silently, all senses stretched out as far as he could stretch, but he felt the strength of the Force fading with every step he took. Whatever this creature might be, it's greatest weapon might very well prove to be its ability to nullify the living Force, and Obi-Wan deliberately ignored the frisson of fear that thought sent racing up his spine.

Directly ahead of him, where the narrow ledge broadened slightly and veered off to the left, there was a dark opening, an aperture leading to perfect blackness. The smell flowing from that orifice was a blast of incredible filth, combining an essence of rotting flesh with a vitriolic musk. Obi-Wan flinched, but stepped forward resolutely. 

A sound - like something slithering through viscous mud - emerged from the darkness.

"Just keep moving," whispered the Jedi, reaching back to make sure the boy was still shielded by his own body.

The opening was no more than three meters across - but it seemed more like twenty as they edged their way past it. As they reached the far end, Obi-Wan twisted his body, so that he was walking backwards, with the boy still behind him. He had just begun to heave a sigh of relief when there was a strangled cry at his back.

The actinic brilliance of the lightsaber was almost blinding as he spun, and he would never be sure that what his eyes registered was what was really there. On Romy's shoulders, engulfing his head, was a black, hellish figure of nightmare, a cluster of segmented legs centered around a malevolent oblate body with fluorescent yellow eyes. Huge fangs were poised at the boy's throat, as a barbed appendage hovered before his mouth.

Obi-Wan did not consciously act. Rather, he reacted, allowing his instincts to take over where rational thought could not. With a flick of his wrist, he inserted the humming lightsaber into a gap between that bulbous body and Romy's throat - a gap that was certainly only centimeters across. At the same time, he reached out with his free hand, and grabbed at the fangs. He felt rather than saw the barbed appendage dart down and pierce his wrist, just as he swung the lightsaber up and out, away from the boy's body. The creature was literally bisected, and fell away into the abyss, with a loud chittering wail. 

But the sound it made in the cave was only a pale echo of the sound it made in the Jedi's mind. A psionic howl assaulted Obi-Wan's consciousness, and sent him crashing to his knees, body and mind writhing in agony.

It was a weapon the likes of which he had never encountered, and it just might prove to be lethal.

Behind the fallen knight, from the unrelenting blackness, a creature raced forth with incredible speed; a creature identical to the one just dispatched into the depths, but much, much larger. The one defeated had been no more than a hatchling; this one was full-grown. In a matter of seconds, its numerous legs had surrounded Obi-Wan's body and forced him to a semi-erect posture. As his mind slowly cleared from the effects of the smaller creature's death shriek, he found himself unarmed, drenched with the familiar toxic stench, and facing almost certain death. The gargantuan creature held him motionless, as one wickedly sharp appendage approached his throat, and a second speared toward his abdomen.

He tried to summon the Force, but knew before he started that it was a futile attempt. He knew a moment of genuine fear, as he wondered if being cut off from the life-affirming energy field at the moment of his death would preclude his passage into the afterlife that existed within it. But he calmed his fears. He was a Jedi; he would die like one.

All of this took place within the space of a heartbeat. He thought it would probably be his last.

The two sharp appendages reached and pierced his body, flooding him with bolts of white-hot pain, just as there was a brilliant flash of emerald light, and then another. Obi-Wan was aware that he was suddenly free to move, but was immersed in a great lethargy. He suddenly had no idea of why he had so desperately wanted to move, or where he had wanted to go.

Someone was shaking him. It was damned annoying; he really wanted to sleep now.

"Obi-Wan. Please, Obi-Wan. You've got to wake up. Please."

"Sleepy," mumbled the knight.

Romy stared down at the severed appendages still lodged in the Jedi's body. He had managed to retrieve the lightsaber from where it had fallen, activate it, and use it to lop off the heavily armored barbs that were attacking Obi-Wan, and, with a second swing, slice through the creature's multi-lensed eye. But he wasn't sure the creature was dead, and he wasn't sure he had been fast enough to save the Jedi's life. With a mumbled half-prayer that he didn't even know he was saying, he reached down and wrenched the two thick chitinous hooks from the knight's body. He winced as bright blood bloomed from both wounds, but it did not seem to be the unrelenting flow of arterial blood, and it diminished quickly.

"Obi-Wan. Please. I need help, Obi-Wan. I can't do this by myself."

Somewhere, deep inside his consciousness, the Jedi lifted himself out of darkness. _Oh, damn,_ he thought. _All I wanted was a little nap. Can't anybody in this galaxy do anything without my help? Anything at all?_

He even debated ignoring the call completely. He had, after all, earned a rest, had he not?

His eyes fluttered open and regarded the boy hovering above him with something like resentment.

Then he remembered and surged to his feet, only to gasp at the fiery agony in his throat and his belly, and the great surge of dizziness that gripped him.

"Obi-Wan, can you walk?"

The Jedi didn't waste breath on answering. He just nodded.

Without fully understanding the reason for his own action, Romy tucked the severed appendages from their attacker into a pocket of his robe. He then started forward, still grasping the ignited lightsaber. Obi-Wan thought about demanding that he return it, but decided that, given his current level of disorientation, he'd probably gut himself if he tried to retrieve it.

Fortunately, they didn't have far to go. They made it to the exit to find that morning was just dawning, with its usual spectacular showing. Neither of them noticed.

As Obi-Wan stumbled into the rising light, he felt the resurgence of the Force and reached out for it to steady himself. But his connection was weak, and he was unable to strengthen it. A quick assessment of his physical condition revealed why. He didn't know what the toxin was or how it would ultimately affect him, but he could feel the dark poison pulsing through his body. A heavy blackness hovered over him, ready to drop him into unconsciousness the moment he relaxed his vigilance.

"Obi-Wan. Are you all right?" Romy knew it was a silly question, but didn't know what else to say.

"Just get me to the ship," the Jedi whispered, eyes glazed with pain. "Hurry."

Neither of them would ever be sure how they managed to cover those last few meters to reach the scout ship. And Obi-Wan would certainly never remember going through the preflight protocols. At some point, he discarded a small locker filled with emergency supplies, and directed Romy to secure himself in the tiny space. He also managed to stow all the items salvaged from Romy's rescue pod, but he would never remember any of it.

In less than an hour, the tiny ship lifted from its narrow berth, and rocketed into space, with no external indication that the pilot was very nearly comatose.

With vision failing rapidly, the young Jedi programmed the hyperdrive computer and activated the automated communication beacon, keying in a Jedi emergency code.

At last, he sat back in his seat and turned to regard the boy crouched behind him.

"Romy," he breathed, barely conscious now. "I have to try to put myself in a healing trance. But I'm not sure I still have the strength. Anyway, one way or another, you're going to be on your own in here for a while. I want you to keep an eye on the communication gear." He pointed to a panel indicator, strobing green. "If this stops blinking, you need to resend the message. Understand? They'll come for us."

"I understand," say the boy. "How long . . .?"

"Long enough," whispered Obi-Wan. _I hope._

"You saved my life," said the boy.

"You returned the favor." It was barely audible.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Hmmm?"

"Please don't die."

But the poison, finally, would not be ignored. The young Jedi slumped in his restraints, too exhausted to find his connection to the Force.

The tiny ship fled through the distortion of hyperspace, cradling its precious cargo. And Romy sat vigil, unable even to determine if his companion was alive or dead.

"You can't die. I have a big surprise for you, so you can't die."

As expected, there was no response.

* * * * * * * *  
tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 --- Dreams and Omens

"By the Force, Master Windu. What _is_ that smell?"

"I don't know. I've never come across anything like it. But it must have something to do with the fact that there are two people in a ship meant for just one. Where in blazes is your medical droid?"

"Patience, Master. It's on its way. It's not a new model, so it's a little slow, but it's very skilled, and very experienced."

"There's not much time, Longo. The little one seems to be all right, but Kenobi . . .". The voice trailed away with a sigh.

"Hey. Give him a little credit. You don't kill a Sith without being a tough little bastard. He's probably like a catling - nine lives and all."

The response was barely audible. "He's already used up a lot more than that. It's time he caught a break."

"I thought the Jedi didn't believe in luck."

The rich deep voice grew louder. "Right now, I'm willing to believe in anything that gets him through this - alive."

* * * * * * * * *

Somewhere, deep in the sanctuary of his own inner consciousness, Obi-Wan Kenobi was marginally aware of the murmur of voices somewhere outside himself, but he couldn't be bothered to figure out what they were saying. It sounded, just a little, like an argument, and he figured he had already witnessed enough of those to last him a lifetime. Or he would have figured that, if he could have summoned up enough energy and concern to figure anything at all. 

He didn't know where he was exactly, but he was pretty sure he'd never been there before. It was a separate place. Without connections. Without bonds. Without tidal forces to pull him or push him or influence him in any way. It was a new sensation for him. For the very first time, he was free-floating. Bondless. He thought he liked it. And if a tendril of connection of any kind tried to reach him through the bright serenity of his own soul, he thought he'd just push it away. If he could just summon up the energy.

For the moment, though, he found the distant drone of conversation mildly annoying. Perhaps if he just let go a little more, allowing himself to sink deeper into the . . . wherever he was. Ah, yes. That was much better. The buzzing voices were receding, along with the world around them; the world that contained so much of what he no longer wished to experience - or remember. It was better here. Here where there were no voices; no world; no memories; no bonds; no pain.

And if, far down in the shadows of his sub-conscious, a tiny but maddeningly persistent little voice kept insisting that he was taking the coward's way out and running away from his responsibilities, his more dominant awareness had chosen to silence the pest, by summoning up the most vile, abusive, defiant, uncharacteristic, and ultimately insulting response he could think of. _Fuck off!_ The voice would probably return, sooner or later; it was stubborn that way. But, for now, there was only the blessed silence and the absence of all that he no longer wished to experience.

 _Death is the ultimate silence . . . the ultimate peace._ The little voice was more persistent than he had expected, but he was relentless, and it finally gave up and left him to his tranquil emptiness

* * * * * * * *

The _Main Chance_ streaked through hyperspace, its preprogrammed course carrying it much closer to a number of spacial anomalies than it would normally have dared to go. But it would dare quite a lot now, much to the delight of its captain. From Trex Longo's perspective, it wasn't really much of a dare at all - but it was light years better than what he was usually allowed to do in the service of the Jedi. In fact, he was thoroughly fed up with customary Jedi caution. And he had a suspicion that even some of the Jedi found themselves chafing sometimes under the restraints placed on them by the Order. Kenobi, for example. Longo would have made book on the fact that the young Jedi, if given the opportunity, would not be adverse to a little risk-taking - a bit of the thrill of the chase. Beneath that oh, so tightly governed exterior, lay the heart of a kindred spirit. Or so the ex-pirate believed.

Unlike his most unadventurous first mate. The K'Muri, who was timid as a temple mouse but a virtuoso mechanic, had positively blossomed under Jedi constraints, much to Longo's chagrin. What was a totally benign existence to the first mate was, for the captain, the very definition of that old cliché, a fate worse than death.

So Longo sat now in the pilot's seat of the ship he loved beyond all reason, and resisted the urge to bellow with sheer exuberance, as he plotted his next course adjustment. If he were to take a (manual) shortcut across the Powmara Maelstrom to access a new set of jump co-ordinates for the next leg of their journey, he could advance their arrival at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant by at least eleven hours. Assuming, of course, that he could complete the transit safely. Ordinarily, such a variation from a standard course would have been out of the question, especially with a Jedi Council member on board. But this was no ordinary trip - and Longo wasn't even sure that Mace Windu would notice whatever he did, up to and including flying through a naked singularity, as long is it got them to the Temple in as little time as possible.

The reason for the change of heart (and habit) lay motionless now in the tiny sick bay of the reformed pirate ship, under the care of a B-9 medical droid, and the watchful eye of the Jedi Master.

They had found Kenobi's Headhunter scout-ship adrift in space, several light hours out of Ragoon-6, its automated emergency beacon still broadcasting, its life support systems at critical levels. Once the tiny, one-man ship had been tractored into the Main Chance's shuttle bay, Longo and Windu had opened it up to discover Kenobi - barely alive - and a small companion, unconscious but otherwise unharmed, both reeking to the heavens with a nauseating, toxic stench.

The boy, Romy, had regained consciousness quickly, and subsequently refused to leave Kenobi's side, proclaiming only that the Jedi had saved his life, and he would not rest until knowing his rescuer was safe. He had even resisted washing away the powerful stench that clung to him like swamp gas, until Longo had threatened to do it for him, if he continued to refuse. So now, clean and odorless, he sat along side a Jedi Master, and watched for any small sign of returning consciousness in young Kenobi. So far, it had been a futile wait.

With more assistance than it needed, the B-9 medical droid had tended the young Jedi's wounds and run countless diagnostic scans of his body, attempting to identify the toxin that saturated his bloodstream. As Romy, Windu, and even Longo had assisted in cleansing the knight's battered body, the droid had run program after program, comparing the poison's organic signature with thousands of others in its database. All to no avail; the poison continued to defy identification. 

Without an antidote in hand, there was little that could be done to reverse the effects of the toxin; he was therefore merely being maintained by artificial means, until the healers at the Jedi Temple could try their hands at solving the puzzle. His only hope of survival lay in their expertise, and the vast deposits of data stored in the Jedi's matchless archives, and in the investigative powers of Temple pathologists, who were already looking for an antidote, even before the victim could reach them. Blood test analyses had been forwarded to them, along with diagnostic scan data, as well as the eyewitness account of the attack that Romy had provided. In a small stasis field in sickbay, lay two specimens of the creature that had injected the toxin, appendages severed from the creature's body by the Jedi's lightsaber. It was hoped that DNA analyses would prove helpful in finding a means to combat the poison. But so far, there had been no answers.

Kenobi was still alive only because of the healing energy being poured into his body by the Jedi Master who sat at his side, but Windu, while incredibly strong in the Force, was no healer. As the hours slipped away, the Jedi Master felt that his young charge was slipping right along with them. Try as he would, he could not delve deeply into Obi-Wan's consciousness, and that, he thought, might prove to be the part of the young man's problem that had no resolution.

As his eyes drifted to the chronometer on the wall, for perhaps the hundredth time within the hour, to register the time remaining to Coruscant, his mind scanned further, reaching beyond the confines of this room, this ship, perhaps even this dimension.

_Qui-Gon, Old Friend. If you're able to hear this, you might want to lend a hand. He lost his bond with you, and it's too soon for his bond with Anakin to be strong enough to reach him now. I don't know if there's anything here strong enough to pull him back, if he really wants to go. And we both know how he felt about you, so he might very well decide that he doesn't want to go on without you. If that's true, there's only one way. You have to send him back. If, that is, he's even strong enough to make it back. He's really very sick, my friend. Maybe too sick to survive. If you're listening, help me to help him. I don't think we can stand to lose you both._

In the corner of the medical bay, tucked under a table piled high with a hodgepodge of scanning devices, a small person with bright copper-colored hair and pale green skin sat quietly, huge, amber eyes shadowed with weariness and a growing sense of frustration. Obi-Wan's breathing seemed to be growing progressively more shallow as time wore on, and Romy's own breath seemed ever harder to draw, as he focused on the young man who had rescued him from the solitude he had been forced to endure. _You can't die on me. You can't. I owe you my life. How can I repay you, if you die on me?_ ~

"Romy." Master Windu's voice was very soft. "You won't help him by wearing yourself out. If he wakes, I promise I'll call you. Please get some rest."

The youngster, stiff from hours of sitting motionless, crawled slowly out of the cubbyhole and faced the Jedi Master with frank suspicion. "Is he going to die?"

"Not if I can help it," replied Windu firmly.

"What about the other one?"

"What 'other one'?"

"The one he talks to. The one nobody else can see."

Master Mace studied the boy's face with renewed interest. "You saw him talking to someone else? Someone you couldn't see?"

Romy nodded.

"Maybe he was just talking to himself."

Romy looked at the Jedi Master with undisguised disgust. "Obi-Wan wouldn't talk to himself. Not like that. Not like it was a two-way conversation. I couldn't see who he was talking to, but that doesn't mean no one was there."

Windu hid a smile. "You're quite right, Romy. What was I thinking?"

"It was his Jedi Master. Wasn't it?"

Again, Windu was surprised into revealing more of his thoughts than he intended.

"Are you reading my mind, young one?" The words were stern, but there was a hint of a smile in the Master's eyes.

Romy didn't smile in return. His eyes, dark with desperation, swept around the small med bay, seeking some indication of a presence he did not entirely believe in but, at the same time, hoped to find. "You can't let him die," he whispered. "If he dies, it's . . ."

"It's what, Romy?"

"It's just . . .wrong. That's all."

He would say no more, but both Jedi Master and frightened child knew that what he had said - and what he meant - were two different things.

* * * * * * *

Captain Longo sprawled in his pilot's chair, poring over volumes of interstellar charts collected from all over the galaxy, searching for any heretofore unsuspected little quirk of time and space that might allow him to break the laws of astrophysics, with impunity. He was trying very hard not to think about the plight of the young Jedi lying now - and maybe dying now - in his sickbay.

When Kenobi's emergency distress signal had reached the Jedi Temple, there had been pandemonium - or, at least, as near to pandemonium as the Jedi would ever allow within their hallowed halls. There had been no acknowledgement, of course, that the identity of the endangered knight made any difference in the speed or degree of their response, but Longo - a life-long practicing cynic (and proud of it) - saw the truth clearly. Kenobi was, for the moment, the Jedi's shining star; their super celebrity, who was nothing short of a public relations bonanza. The Sith killer.

The Order, the reformed pirate observed, could claim all it wanted that it collectively cared nothing for publicity or favorable press; that it was above such mundane pursuits. But the truth was that the knighthood, no matter how noble and pure, survived at the sufferance of the populace, just like any other institution. The fact that it had done so for thousands of years and managed never to piss off enough of the population to get itself slaughtered, exiled, or stripped of its powers and prestige indicated just how skilled the knighthood actually was in manipulating public opinion. 

Trex Longo was inclined to trust self-serving altruism; he would have doubted any other kind. But he didn't have to like it. For a man who had spent the majority of his life stealing from anyone who happened to get in his way, Longo had a surprisingly deep sense of morality; the fact that it in no way resembled the morality of most law-abiding citizens did not make it any less valid. He saw the knighthood's logic and even agreed with it, but it still stirred something inside him that he didn't much like. Saving Obi-Wan Kenobi would be a feather in the Temple's cap, not to mention that of anyone else who happened to be along for the ride (like certain glamorous, but currently financially strapped ex-pirates). Conversely, losing him would be a tragedy of titanic proportions. So, of course, Longo was concerned; it was in his own best interest to see that the Conquering Hero returned safely home. And that was his only motivation for concern. Why should he care about the kid, otherwise? Right? Right!

Then again, if he survived this ordeal, Kenobi himself would become a force (or a Force, Longo thought) to be reckoned with. He would certainly be set up for life, able to spend the remainder of his years picking and choosing missions as he saw fit, avoiding the unpleasant and the dangerous, no doubt. And living in the lap of luxury, as the darling of the Republic, the Senate and the Jedi Order.

Except - Longo's eyes fixed on the emptiness beyond the parasteel port - he wouldn't. Kenobi would refuse to take advantage of his good fortune, would probably even resist being on display for his adoring public. The ex-pirate had no idea how he knew that; he'd only met Kenobi once, and that, very briefly. But he knew it nonetheless.

There was something about the young Jedi that Longo could not define; something elusive. But that wasn't quite right either. It wasn't so much that he couldn't identify the quality that distinguished Kenobi from any other run-of-the-mill Jedi (and, by the Force, wouldn't they just love being described in those terms?) It was rather that he couldn't accept it as genuine. He was marginally willing to concede that an exceptional young man might just be as honest, courageous, and honorable as Kenobi was reputed to be, but nobody could be that innocent. Could they?

Not physical innocence, of course, he hastened to stipulate in his mental debate with himself. It was a sure bet that a man with Kenobi's looks, who moved with the grace and unconscious swagger of one of the great catlings of Corellia, and who wore the glamorous Jedi aura as casually and naturally as most men wore shoes, had already taken a few - well, probably more than a few - walks on the wild side. And the (baseless) rumor that the knighthood demanded celibacy from its membership would only have served to make such a well-favored young specimen even more desirable to the uninitiated. Nothing, after all, was so irresistible as that which one was forbidden to touch.

No, the young Jedi was certainly no blushing virgin, physically. But his soul? 

Longo was suddenly compelled to shake himself out of his reverie. It was not possible that he was actually sitting here thinking about the spiritual essence - the soul - of Obi-Wan Kenobi. He didn't believe in souls, or in much of anything else beyond that which he could see or feel or touch with his own hands. And yet - there _was_ something about Kenobi; the ex-pirate had sensed it immediately, at the moment of their first encounter. Could there be such a thing as a virgin soul - a spirit so pristine and unblemished that it would repel evil, like wax repelled water? And, if there were, wouldn't such a phenomenon provide an almost irresistible target for true evil - a sort of ethical attraction of opposites? In spite of the warmth of the cockpit, Longo shuddered. In a confrontation between two such complete extremes, he wondered, would either survive? Or would they simply cancel each other out of existence, in a mutual matter/anti-matter annihilation?

And what was all this nonsense clogging up his thinking? He must be going soft.

Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the Skywalker kid. When word of Kenobi's plight had reached his newly-bonded Padawan, the boy had been beside himself with worry, as well as absolutely determined to accompany the rescue mission.

When denied permission to do so by the Jedi Council, Anakin had done exactly what Longo would have done, under identical circumstances; he had secreted himself aboard the _Main Chance_ and waited for departure. Only Longo's instincts had foiled his plans.

In the end, it had been the star pilot's pragmatic reasoning that had convinced the boy to remain at the Temple to await his Master's return. While the Jedi had preached about patience and "finding his center" - whatever that meant - Longo had simply informed him that having a child along - even a very gifted, very determined, and very resourceful child - might prove to be a liability if there were unexpected problems along the way. The pilot had been the only one to recognize that it was the well-being of Kenobi that was the key to obtaining the boy's cooperation. No concerns about his own welfare would have phased the apprentice in the least.

The ex-pirate thought young Skywalker was a great kid, who had been through more in his young lifetime than many of these Jedi Masters had ever endured, or ever would. Anakin had a natural wisdom that appealed to the star pilot, and a keen sense of judgment; this was a trait often found in those who had lived close to the edge of disaster. It was a survival trait, and the boy definitely had it. And Anakin Skywalker was convinced that Obi-Wan Kenobi had hung the moon. Longo had heard all about the boy's initial relationship with Qui-Gon Jinn, and how heartbroken he had been when the Master died. But there was no emptiness now in young Skywalker's heart; it had been filled to the brim by an untried, inexperienced, and probably unprepared young knight who was almost certainly feeling his way through this new development in his life, using only his most basic instincts. Yet, against all odds, he had managed to anchor the boy solidly, with only minimal input.

The Jedi Council had not bothered to conceal its concerns about Kenobi's ability to train the boy, but Longo smiled to himself as he remembered their muttered comments, the ones he was almost certainly not meant to overhear. Kenobi would shame them all, he thought, for he had a capacity that many of them seemed to lack or even understand, all their great wisdom notwithstanding. But the boy knew instinctively. For whatever reason - and who could ever explain the reasons for such developments - the young Jedi already loved the child and had reached into the boy's heart without even having to think twice about how to do it. That would answer whatever problems might arise. The Council didn't stand a chance against the two of them together.

Longo grinned. That was another reason to make sure the young knight survived this journey. There would be many, many occasions in the future, when Kenobi would be forced to defy the Council - to defend his Padawan. And that would be a sight to behold. Even if he weren't this disgustingly noble being that the galaxy seemed to want him to be; even if he were as fallible and prone to human weaknesses as anybody else, Longo wanted him to live, as a perpetual thorn in the Jedi's side. The captain couldn't think of anything he'd enjoy more than that.

"Ja'Balos," he bellowed suddenly, as he realized the significance of a small, cryptic notation scrawled on an old Bothan starchart. The Captain subscribed to the theory that use of a com link in the confines of a ship was nothing more than a waste of good lungs.

The K'muri emerged from a cramped space beneath a deflector control panel. "Necessary to screech, it is not. Your customary roar would have been more than sufficient."

"Yeah, yeah." Longo's eyes held a febrile glitter that caused the K'Muri's hackles to rise and his claws to spring from their sheaths. "Better go back and tell our guests to strap themselves in. It could get a little bumpy for a while."

"Humph!" Ja'Balos grumped. "Kill him to save him, will you?" The first mate heaved a deep sigh. "Very well. I obviously can't convince you to proceed with caution. But you might just want to restrain yourself and avoid the Corellian battle cry; it somehow detracts from your image as the savior of the Jedi."

"Smart ass," mumbled Longo, as he donned his flying gloves, slipped into his pilot's harness, and waited for the transition to sub-light. Then, with a wry smile, he reached back, closed the cockpit hatch, and engaged the seal. He didn't really indulge himself with the Corellian battle cry - usually - but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared, just in case he was overcome with temptation.

* * * * * * *

While Trex Longo navigated the gravitic turmoil of the Powmara Maelstrom, the com-link to Coruscant was open and accessible, mostly - except for those intermittent moments when the pilot took the ship through bands of almost incandescent interference. Master Mace Windu braced himself against Obi-Wan's biobed - which fortunately, was bolted down - muttered a mild imprecation against suicidal star pilots, and waited for his link to the Jedi Temple to activate. He had reviewed the new course information provided by Longo, and projected their arrival at the Temple at just under seven hours. But he was beginning to believe that it would be too long; at the very least, it would be a near thing. He had little confidence that the healers could do much at this distance, but he was desperate enough to try anything. 

He faced the viewscreen with scarcely concealed impatience. The image swam for a few seconds, then cleared abruptly. Peering back at him, with ageless calm was a very tall, very pale, very bald Bimar, looking, as any Bimar would at such a moment, vague, insubstantial, ethereal, and incomplete. The Bimar, a race of twins, were never entirely whole unless in the proximity of either their physical or bonded twin.

"Master Varqa," said Windu, with a slight bow, "any progress?"

The Bimar's thin, colorless lips pursed slightly, with gentle disapproval.

"The computers are searching all our databases, Master Windu. But there is so much . . ." The thin, listless voice trailed off.

"Master Healer," Windu said urgently, "I know the task is massive. But I'm losing him. Nothing I've tried has had any real effect. I don't know if . . ."

"Nonsense!" said a clipped, impatient voice from beyond the scope of the viewscreen. "You just haven't found the right bait."

Healer Varqa turned to face the new arrival with a deep, bracing breath, and gentle, glowing color suffused his pallid complexion. A second Bimar appeared at his side, smaller, softer, pinker, sporting a fringe of irridescent silver hair, and eyes the color of summer rain.

Mace Windu couldn't quite resist a tiny smile, even though he knew it was a major risk. Mirilent Soljan - wife and bonded biomate of Varqa Soljan - tended to have that effect on sentient beings. She appeared to be the most benign, most congenial of women; at least, until there were reasons for her to be otherwise. Though standing less than five feet tall, weighing less than one hundred pounds and possessing a sweet, diffident smile, this tiny female had managed in her extended lifetime (she was, by most accounts, well into her third century) to reduce any number of Jedi Masters - some of great stature - to stuttering, stumbling, rambling incoherence. She accomplished this by virtue of having and using an astonishing intellect that knew few equals within or without the Jedi order, a towering empathic gift for healing, an unparalleled dedication to her profession, a complete lack of patience or tolerance for pretentiousness or artifice, and a total refusal to suffer incompetents gladly - or fools at all. In her decades of service to the knighthood, she had tended initiates, padawans, knights, and masters, without regard to rank, age, or abilities. She had never been intimidated by any of them, but the reverse could not be said. It was even rumored that she had once chased the legendary Qui-Gon Jinn through the halls of the medical bay brandishing a leather belt with which she fully intended to administer what she considered appropriate punishment for the neglect of his Padawan.

She was blessed with a natural capacity for healing, the wisdom of her years, and a complete lack of fear - of anybody. And she had absolutely no vice for her detractors to exploit, and no weaknesses . . . except one. Beyond her family - bond mate, twin sister, twin sons, and twin daughters - Mirilent was an absolutely perfect model of even-handedness, showing no partiality to anyone - ever.

Except . . . once. Once, over twenty years in the past, she had been called upon to tend the wounds of one very small, very grave initiate. The child, barely three years old at the time, had appeared at the doors of the medical bay, holding his left arm at a most peculiar angle, and asking if someone could help him. Nobody in the creche (from which he had come) was ever certain how he had managed to escape their supervision without anyone noticing or how he had found his way to the healer's wing. Mirilent had looked down into crystalline eyes of an incredibly pure blue-green, awash with tears he would not shed (because "Jedi doan cwy") and she had experienced something at that moment that would never happen to her again; she had lost her heart, and she would never recover it. She would, for all her acerbic ways, always be known as a soft touch for the children of the Temple, but only so long as they remained children. When they grew up, she had no more patience for them than for anyone else. Except for one. For the one who had looked up at her with absolute, unquestioning trust in those incredible eyes, from under a cap of soft ginger hair; had refused to cry out even when she examined that tiny fractured forearm; and had announced that his name was "Obi-Nobi". He was still, to this day, Obi-Nobi to her, and always would be.

"I want to see him, Mace." As usual, she omitted his title.

Windu's smile was rueful. "He can't exactly come to the viewer, Mir."

"Then take the viewer to him." Her tone said clearly that she was dealing with mental deficiency, and none too patiently.

Windu frowned. "What good will that do? I don't see . . . "

" _You_ don't have to see," she interrupted. " _I_ have to see."

"But you can't . . . "

"Oh, by the gods, Man, just scan the boy. After all the time he's spent in my hands, I know that body better than my own children's - or my own husband's, for that matter. I want to see the wounds."

Windu moved to obey, with alacrity. One did not question Mirilent's instructions when she used that tone. He held the scanner above Obi-Wan's still form, moving it at the healer's direction. As the image of the wounds on throat and abdomen became clear, the tiny healer's breath caught in her throat. At the same time, her bond mate said softly, "Mir, do you see . . . "

"The difference?" She finished the question for him. "Yes. I see it."

"See what?" asked Windu. He had examined the young Jedi's injuries repeatedly and seen nothing to distinguish the one from the other.

"The wounds are different in nature," she answered absently, her mind obviously exploring possibilities, "and probably were from the beginning. The abdominal wound has begun to respond to the bacta patches, but the throat wound has not. Even though the wound in his abdomen appears to harbor traces of infection. It is perplexing."

The tiny Bimar's eyes softened and filled with pale shadows, as she studied Obi-Wan's sleeping form. Windu could almost believe he could hear her thoughts. Almost - but not quite. In truth, he wasn't absolutely sure that even Qui-Gon Jinn had ever understood the depth of this woman's commitment to this particular padawan. Maybe she didn't even understand it herself.

The silence was heavy as she continued to gaze at the young Jedi's face. 

_Can you hear me, Obi-Nobi? Do you remember how many times your Master brought you to me, so I could heal the hurts and make you well again? When you were little, it was scrapes and bruises and sprains. And when you got a little older, it was lightsaber burns and bloody noses, some of them administered by the Temple bullies that you would never name. And then, when you became a young man, it was injuries inflicted by sadistic cretins who tried to torture the goodness out of you. Do you remember how your Master and I laughed - and tried not to let you see it - when you had to take that inoculation for Pyhrrian Fever and it had to be given with a needle and you, the Padawan that could face down draigons and hutts and pirates and gods only know what else, fainted dead away at the sight of that little needle? Do you remember coming to me when your first close encounter with physical intimacy involved an even closer encounter with poison ivy, and everyone in the Temple figured out what you and Padawan Nia had been doing in those Corellian woods? Do you remember all that? Well, now you need to remember this. We always beat it, Little One. You and your Master and me; we were an unbeatable team. And I'm too old to learn how to accept defeat now. You will survive. I won't have it otherwise._

The Master Healer raised rain gray eyes to gaze at Mace Windu, who barely resisted the urge to squirm. He did, however, resist the urge to be ashamed of his reaction; this tiny woman had been known to more than hold her own against the towering rages of Master Yoda himself. Any Jedi worth the name knew to proceed with caution in a confrontation with Mirilent Soljan. "How have you attempted to reach him?" she asked.

Windu sighed. "His shields are very strong, and I dare not attack indiscriminately. The wound from the severing of the Master/Padawan bond is still too fresh. If I accidentally access . . . "

"Mace," she said firmly, "you're not dealing with a rookie padawan here. You have to get beyond thinking of him as a child; we all do. It's a common tendency, among Jedi as well as parents. They grow up when we're not looking, and we don't notice. He doesn't need our protection any more; he's grown. Qui-Gon knew it; you have to know it too. If you continue to approach him as you would a child, you will lose him."

"But he's so broken, Mir." There were tears in the voice if not in the eyes.

"Yes," she agreed softly, "broken, but no longer fragile. We want to protect him because we always have. Because it's what Qui-Gon always did. But we've lost our ultimate weapon, Mace. Qui-Gon isn't here to fight his battle for him. And, even if he were, I have my doubts that Obi-Wan would allow it any more. He has more strength than any of us have ever realized - except Qui-Gon, I think. I think he knew, or, at least, was beginning to know. Obi-Wan could well become the strongest of us all, but he'll never get the chance, _if you don't do something to keep him alive._ "

"But I can't. . . ."

"By the Force," Mirilent was almost yelling, "think, Man. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi you're dealing with. You know him almost as well as Qui-Gon did, and you need to motivate him to fight for his life. How do you do that?"

Mace drew a trembling hand across his eyes. "He's lost so much, Mir."

"Yes, he has," she agreed, "but he's also gained something."

Windu looked up sharply. "Anakin!"

"Anakin," she confirmed.

"But their bond isn't . . ."

"Strong enough," she interrupted, totally unconcerned with how annoying such continuous interruptions could be. "I know. I wasn't suggesting that the boy could reach him. But he accepted the job of training young Skywalker - _from his Master_. The bond - though still tentative - is formed. And he knows perfectly well - better than any of us - the agony of having that bond severed. He won't willingly inflict that on anyone, especially a child."

She paused briefly and saw that Windu still had his doubts, and doubts could be deadly in the task awaiting him. "Mace, think about it. He's spent his entire life, devoting himself to being the perfect padawan - so much so that he's denied himself the right to be a child. We keep treating him like one, because it comforts us, but he hasn't really been a child since he was thirteen years old. He carried the world on his shoulders. And, sometimes, he even carried Qui-Gon, though he did it with so much love and such discretion that I'm not sure the big bonehead ever even realized it. That's the key. He won't turn his back on his duty now, no matter how tired he is."

"You're sure?" Windu's eyes were dark with foreboding. Beneath his gaze, Obi-Wan seemed to shudder, and his face contorted in pain.

"I'm sure, but you have to hurry. His aura is very pale; we're almost out of time."

"But if I go too quickly . . ."

"It will make no difference to a dead man," she said sharply. "Will you sit there and dither while he dies? Do it! Now!"

And the Jedi Master placed his hand on Obi-Wan's forehead, took a deep breath, and reached into a mind gone cold and forbidding.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was getting darker, and Obi-Wan felt his first real twinge of unease. He had not spent much time trying to understand where he was, but he had been pretty sure that he already knew. This warm, soft radiance that cradled him so sweetly, was the preliminary to the path into the Force - the path to forever - the path to reunion. And in that assumption, he had known only contentment.

But it shouldn't be darkening. Should it? And it shouldn't be growing colder. A soft but insistent alarm began to chime in his consciousness. If he was on the threshold of joining the Force, shouldn't there be a familiar presence there to greet him. Of course, since one only made this particular journey one time, he had no precedents to guide him; maybe there was some sort of transition period, before he could join those who had gone before him. They would surely be waiting for him; _he_ would be waiting for him. Wouldn't he? Unless . . . Unless he had somehow been judged unworthy to make the transition. He had no idea, after all, how such decisions were made. Could it be that he would be denied entrance into the arms of the Force, and the company of the Jedi who had preceded him? Had he failed his purpose in life so completely that death would truly be the end of existence-in all its forms? Had he been deemed unworthy?

 _Unworthy._ The voice in his mind was not familiar, or was it? _Yes, of course. Didn't you know?_

_Who are you?_

_You will know - in time, young Jedi. But the time is not yet. You can never go back, you know._

_Go back to what?_

_To your life, as it was. You've come too far, out of the light. You've tasted darkness, and found it rich and tempting. Nothing less will ever satisfy you again._

_No. That's not true. I'll never turn._

_Is that what your precious Master told you? Your beloved Master, who couldn't even protect his Padawan?_

_He died for me._

_Because he couldn't stand to live for you. You were such a disappointment to him._

_No. He died to save me._

The voice snickered. _He chose to die, rather than face your failures. Open your eyes, Boy. You have the power to see. Take a look._

But Obi-Wan resisted the dark compulsion in that tone, knowing that the shadows surrounding him would color any vision he might have.

His faceless tormentor adopted a new tactic, and the voice became cajoling, almost seductive. _If you refuse to look at the things that will happen, how will you manage to avoid them?_

The young Jedi's resistance was weakening, but he remained defiant. _Any vision_ you _provide would be a lie._

_No, Boy. You may be a sniveling little Jedi brat, but even you would know truth from falsehood. Look!_

Despite his determination, Obi-Wan could not completely shut out a series of images that slammed against his mental shields. Dark images, filled with pain and blood and horrible suffering. A place where light glowed in bright primary colors, swallowed in flames and fury. Mangled bodies - small, mangled bodies. And a face. A familiar face, unbloodied but vacant. Even in his unconscious state, his body recoiled from the horrors he witnessed.

 _No. No more._ He could endure it no longer.

 _Very well._ The dark laughter was louder now. _Suit yourself, Little Jedi. There is yet time - provided you choose to survive this day. Sooner or later, one way or another, you will come to me. Together, we will be the ultimate irresistible force, my lovely, lovely Jedi. And I will never be ashamed of you, for I will teach you how to turn your weakness into strength. You will be my finest work of art - my dark beauty._

Obi-Wan was abruptly conscious of a strange sensation in the emptiness around him, as if a tide of dark power had nudged him toward some shadowy entity that lay in wait for him. He could almost imagine that cold fingers caressed his face, his throat, his body. Cold, greedy fingers that stroked him with icy flames.

In the growing gloom, he suddenly knew real fear, the kind that left a thick, cloying taste in his mouth - the taste of ashes.

He thought he'd been here too long, wherever here was. And he thought he'd waited too long to make the attempt and that the light was simply too far away now for him to reach. Plus, he had no strength to propel himself toward it. It was growing colder and darker, and now he felt the very real presence of death in this timeless place. Real death. Eternal death. Death beyond the reach of the Force.

With a brief, truncated idea that he should probably apologize to his Master for being so stupid, he decided finally to just let it go; to allow whatever it was that had come for him to just take him away, into the gentle current that would fall away into eternal sleep. He was just too tired to care any more.

_Obi-Wan._

He heard it - but had forgotten how to answer.

_Obi-Wan, you must listen to me._

He didn't think so. This voice was not one he felt compelled to obey. It was not the same as the ugly, taunting voice he'd heard earlier, but it wasn't the voice he longed to hear either; the only voice that had ever come to pull him from the depths of pain and suffering. That voice was stilled forever now, and he wouldn't - couldn't - respond to another.

_Obi-Wan, I know you're tired and sick and in pain. And I know I'm not the person you want to hear right now. But you must listen to me._

_Too late._

Windu stifled a gasp . . . and sent a resounding, though silent, thank you to the Force. _No. It can't be too late, Obi-Wan. If you don't come back to us, what of Anakin?_

_Another can train him._

_No, Obi-Wan. He'll have no other. You know that. Test your bond. Even now, you must feel his need for you._ }

A very slight flutter of something - fleeting contact, perhaps - eddied around the Jedi Master's mind.

_Tired._

Mace Windu felt the depth of the young knight's weariness. _I know, Little One. But you are a Padawan no longer. There is no time for weariness. Your Master entrusted you with a sacred duty. Will you fail him?_

The elder Jedi winced as he gauged young Kenobi's response to the brutal prod. It had been a cruel ploy, as well as a big gamble, but he thought he could now discern at least a trace of determination in the young knight's thoughts.

 _So tired._ But it was no longer a justification for abdicating responsibilities. Rather, it was just an observation.

Mace Windu opened his eyes when he heard a soft gasp from the only other fully conscious inhabitant of the sickbay. Romy was clasping Obi-Wan's pale hand with both of his own, holding on as if to anchor the young Jedi to life itself, and staring down into eyes that were still grayed with pain and glazed with desperation, but were open nevertheless.

Quickly, Windu beckoned to the medical droid to prepare an infusion of painkiller to enable the young Jedi to rest more easily, pending their arrival at the Temple. He then turned to advise the waiting Healers of his success, but the com link was silent again, and a quick glance at an exterior monitor revealed that they were once more embedded in the bizarre distortion of hyperspace.

"Welcome back, Young One," said Windu finally, once more laying a gentle hand on Obi-Wan's brow and projecting waves of healing energy.

The young knight responded with an inaudible whisper.

"What?" The Master leaned closer.

"Dirty trick," said Obi-Wan, his voice very soft but very clear.

"Yes," admitted Windu, "it was. And you can yell at Mirilent about it as soon as you're better. It was all her idea."

"Romy okay?" He was drifting again, but sinking now toward a more natural sleep.

"I'm fine, Obi-Wan. Now."

The young Jedi reached out and grasped the boy's shoulder with a shaky hand.

"Tell Mira . . ."

Windu smiled. "Tell her what?"

"I proposed - again."

The Jedi Master chuckled. The first time Obi-Wan had asked for the Bimar's hand in marriage, he had been five years old. It had become a tradition over the years - every time he had required her expertise. Which, according to popular wisdom, made the tiny Bimar the galactic record holder for marriage proposals received.

Mace reached down and wiped a solitary tear from the young knight's face, and noticed Romy looking at him strangely.

"He'll rest easier now," said the Master, "and so should you."

The boy's eyes glowed with warmth. "You care about him a lot. Don't you?"

Windu wasn't terribly comfortable with the question, but he forced himself to answer honestly. "We're not really supposed to have preferences, you know. All padawans are equally precious to the Order." The smile that touched his eyes was bright with mischief. "It's just that some are more 'equal' than others. And this one - well, yes - this one is more than special."

Romy nodded. "To all of us. He'll be okay now. Right?"

The Master wanted to be reassuring for the boy, but could not, in good conscience, lie to him.

"I hope so, Romy. But he's still very ill, and we still have no antidote for the poison. All we've accomplished here is to buy him some time - to allow the Healers at the Temple an opportunity to find a way to save him."

But Windu needed no special telepathic gifts to read the thoughts of the boy as he continued to stand vigil at Obi-Wan's bedside. If will power alone could determine the course of fate, the young knight had nothing to worry about.

* * * * * * *

The Healers were waiting at the docking port, and Mirilent Soljan barely managed to restrain herself long enough to allow the _Main Chance_ to shut down its engines. At her side, at her request, was Anakin Skywalker, and if Mirilent was anxious, Anakin was ready to bounce off the walls. Both surged forward the second the restraining force field shut down. It took no more than two minutes for the patient to be transferred to the waiting transport stretcher and rushed into the Temple, with one very pale, very frightened, but very determined Padawan running along side, keeping up an endless stream of chatter.

Mirilent, in the midst of performing a dozen different diagnostic scans, kept one eye on the boy, and nodded her approval whenever he looked her way. The Bimar was a firm believer in the holistic approach to medicine, as long as it was an adjunct to, rather than a replacement for, her own unique style of healing. The boy's running commentary would certainly do no harm, and might just reach young Kenobi on a level that the Healers could never touch.

As the medical team raced through the Temple, bystanders and passers-by alike paused and made way for their passage, and more than one reached out through the Force and bathed the young knight in waves of healing energy. Such a wealth of positive power was one reason why Jedi who were treated within the Temple often survived injuries that might have proven fatal elsewhere. Mirilent never stopped and considered why it should be so; she was just grateful that it was.

Gragg Runoz, her newest assistant, caught her eye as she completed another full body scan. "Bacta, Master?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. It's only been partially successful. We have to find out why. Otherwise, the stress could be too much for him."

Varqa, who had held his hand against Obi-Wan's forehead since the moment of arrival, now stepped away and looked at his bond-mate. "He's relatively stable, for now. But there is much that will need attention, later. Heal the body. Then we'll see to the mind."

Mirilent just nodded, and spared a tiny smile for her life partner. Varqa was often dismissed as being the weaker of the two healers, by those who had no real familiarity with their skills. While Mirilent was certainly the more dominant personality of the two, not to mention the loudest, she was no more gifted than her mate. It was just that their abilities did not overlap; rather they functioned like different facets of the same entity. She healed the body; he healed the mind. Both would be needed for this case.

"Hey, Obi-Wan," Anakin continued to chatter away, pausing only long enough to steal an occasional glance at the small, pale green creature who was practically running to match the strides of Mace Windu, as he brought up the rear of the procession through the Temple. "You need to hurry up and get well, because there's all kinds of neat stuff coming up, and I need a Master to be able to take part. Now, you don't want me to feel bored and neglected do you? And I'm getting really tired of eating Master Yoda's gruel. Have you tasted that stuff? I mean, that's the definition of gross, you know. I don't think he trusts me, either, cause he won't let me go to the cafeteria by myself. Like I'm a baby or something, and I might get lost. Do you think . . ."

Mirilent smiled - and tuned the boy out, but she hoped that some tiny fragment of the prattle was penetrating Obi-Wan's mental shielding. And, by the Force, did the young knight ever have some powerful shielding! It was undoubtedly a powerful asset for him in the course of performing his Jedi duties, but it certainly complicated things when Healers needed to access his consciousness.

 _Just another obstacle courtesy of you, Jinn._ She had no doubt in her own mind that the rogue Jedi Master could hear her perfectly well. _So since you helped to create the problem, you'd better make sure your ass is hanging around to help find the solution._

In sickbay, Obi-Wan was whisked into a chamber that Anakin had never seen before; nor would he see it now, as he was denied entrance, along with everyone else not part of the medical team.

"But he needs me," he protested, quite loudly.

"Indeed he does," agreed Mirilent, "but he would certainly have my head if I let you stay in the chamber during these procedures. It would be dangerous, for you. Now wait here, and it won't take too long. I'll come talk to all of you as soon as we know more."

Anakin fumed but complied with her instructions.

Mirilent and her staff moved into high gear, careful to sacrifice nothing of efficiency and thoroughness for the sake of speed. "Start the DNA analysis," she instructed, "and set the bio-filters for maximum. If we don't find something to reverse it, we have to find a way to remove it."

"Master," called Gragg from his perch over a spectroscopic display, "it has a caustic component."

"Well, that explains the bacta. Partially, at least. But we still don't know why it worked in one wound and not the other. When we learn that, we might just have found the key." 

In her bustle around the high-tech treatment chamber, she paused for a moment to stare down into her patient's face - and surprised a gleam of bright azure beneath ridiculously long eyelashes. "You," she said softly, "are supposed to be asleep."

"Hi, Beautiful."

She leaned over and touched her forehead against his. "Flattery is not going to get you out of here one minute sooner, you know. This time, you're mine for the duration."

"Marry me."

"And deprive the galaxy of its most eligible bachelor? I'd be tarred and feathered, Child. Now, hush - and sleep."

"Check on Romy," he breathed, fighting off her Force suggestion.

She sighed. "I will and I'll watch out for Anakin. Now, you sleep. And let me make it all better."

It was the phrase she had used on him since he had been a toddler. He smiled faintly. "My hero."

She closed her eyes briefly, and sensed when he allowed himself to slip into slumber. And when she opened them, to find her new assistant staring at her strangely, she returned his look with a glare. "Hop to it!" she snapped. "I want an antidote, and I want it now."

Gragg turned back to his instruments and exchanged a glance with the medical technician working at his side, an older human who had been a member of Mirilent's staff for many years. "Was she . . . " he began, in a whisper.

"Crying?" said the human, with a tiny smile. "Yes. She was."

"But I thought . . ."

The human nodded. "You thought right. She doesn't, ever. Except for her family, and one particular patient. _This_ patient. So I advise you to be extra careful. Trust me when I tell you that you do not want her to find your performance unsatisfactory in this case. And you'd also do well to keep your observation to yourself. If the story gets out, that she cried over a patient, well, I wouldn't want to be on the same planet if she ever found out who told it."

* * * * * * * * * * 

It was several hours before Obi-Wan was placed in a regular room, although the monitoring equipment placed around him still made the chamber look like the flight deck of a military transport vessel. There was very little room for visitors, but, as it turned out, that wasn't terribly important because most of the visitors in question - three at least - were very small. Anakin and Romy were still staring at each other with open suspicion and some element of veiled hostility, so they occupied opposite sides of the room. Master Yoda, on the other hand, radiated serenity, after he had threatened to whack both of them with his gimmer stick if they didn't "tamp down the tumultuous emotions they were broadcasting". As the tiny Jedi Master directed huge currents of healing energy into the young Jedi's mind and body, the only sound in the room was the beep and whine of electronic monitoring instruments.

The Healers had still not been able to discover the needed formula to reverse Obi-Wan's condition, and the caustic nature of the compound that was ravaging his body was resistant to the healing properties of bacta, so that course of treatment was impractical, for the moment.

Thankfully, Obi-Wan remained unconscious, for the most part. But there had been two separate instances when he had roused sufficiently to speak, although his words were garbled and made little sense. The first time, he had seemed to reach out in desperation, mumbling several unintelligible words. The only word that was recognizable was a name. "Garen." He had shouted, as if to send a warning. Garen was a Jedi knight now and a lifelong friend of Obi-Wan's. And, as it happened, he was in residence at the Temple right now. In fact, he was sitting in the sickbay waiting room, along with a host of other friends of the young knight.

The second instance of waking had been even less coherent. Obi-Wan had muttered something about "blood on the light", before lapsing back into unconsciousness.

Everyone put it down to the hallucinogenic properties of the poison. Everyone, that is, except Master Yoda, who regarded the young knight with increasing sadness.

Mace Windu was the only person who noticed. 

After several additional hours, in which Anakin and Romy had finally begun to establish a level of peaceful coexistence (when both had realized that jealousy of each other was neither warranted nor logical), Mirilent Soljan had burst into Obi-Wan's room wearing a smile that could only be described as triumphant.

"I have an announcement," she crowed. "We've identified the toxin. And, more important, we've managed to synthesize the antidote. Not to mention, I've got a brand new weapon in my blackmail arsenal."

Anakin and Romy exchanged glances. "What does that mean?" 

"Never you mind," she said, still grinning. "Now, you guys are going to have to give me some room to work. Because, unfortunately, this antidote is not going to be fun for him to deal with. In fact, it's going to try to kill him before it cures him. So I need twenty-four hours, without the presence of a couple of kids with Kenobi-addiction. OK? Romy, you wait in the waiting room. I still need to check you over. Anakin, go home, and come back tomorrow, when, I promise you, you will have your Master back. Maybe not quite as good as new, but close."

Both boys regarded her with suspicion.

Master Yoda managed to hide a smile - the first one he'd shown all day.

"Ani and Romy," she said softly, "I'm giving you a break, because you don't really know me yet. But take my advice - and scat! Now!"

Both youngsters decided that they didn't really want to know her any better, for now. And went.

When she turned back toward the bed, the diminutive Jedi Master was still staring at her patient. "That means you, too," she said sharply, eyes narrowing. There was something in Yoda's demeanor that she didn't like at all.

"What?" she demanded. "What do you see?"

He shook his head. "Discuss this, I will not."

She leaned forward until her eyes were on a level with his, and she did not flinch. "I don't usually dabble into mystical Jedi mumbo-jumbo," she said softly. "I leave that to the theoreticians. But take care, Master. If you're going to go all visionary on me - and question the vocation of this young knight - I'd advise you to think harder."

"Question his dedication, I do not. A good soul has our Obi-Wan."

"Why do I sense a 'but' coming?"

"A target for evil, is goodness. Always. The Force is strong in him. But, maybe, not strong enough to begin with, and too strong, in the end."

With a deep sigh, the tiny Master made his exit. Mirilent stood for a moment, an inexplicable chill rising within her. She looked once more at the face of her patient, and saw, as she always did when she looked at him, a purity and virtue that was almost blinding in its brilliance. There was no darkness in him - no matter what the little troll might think. With a mental shrug, she went back to work.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In actual fact, it was almost three days before Obi-Wan was completely free of the toxin; he had proven to be allergic to the antidote, which would have made anyone sick, but made him twice as sick, due to the allergy. Thereafter, he was forced to spend an additional eight hours in a bacta tank. When the ordeal of the treatment was done, he was weak and disoriented still, but on the road to recovery.

After finally being freed from the bacta and returned to his room, he was ready to try to talk his way out of the infirmary. Mace Windu was waiting for him when the healer's assistants eased him back into his bed.

"So," said Master Windu, noting the tremor in the young Jedi's hands and the pallor of his skin, "quite an adventure. I understand it was an arachnid poison."

"Yes. A giant spider tried to eat me."

Windu smiled. "I suspect the Healers will have a more empirical description."

Obi-Wan deliberately adopted the expression that Qui-Gon Jinn had once described as "Butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth-so-get-ready-for-the-con-job." 

"Master Mace, couldn't you get Mira to let me out of here?"

Windu's smile became a grin. "You're wasting the baby blues, Kid. You're asking me to deal with Mirilent. I make it a point never to deal with Mirilent."

"But . . ."

"Save your breath, Obi," said the lady in question, from the open doorway. "I told you before. You're mine, until I say different."

Mace rose to go. "Do you have a final report on this incident for the Council?" he asked.

She nodded. "There's an official report somewhere. Just tell them a giant spider tried to eat him."

Obi-Wan couldn't resist a grin.

Windu departed, muttering something about "two of a kind".

Mirilent smiled and made a face at his back, then came to perch on the side of Obi-Wan's bed. "How do you feel, Little One?"

"I feel fine, and don't you think it's time you stopped calling me that - seeing as how I'm about twice your size by now?"

"Um," she answered softly. "When I look at you, I still see you as you were, Obi Nobi."

"Ach!" he retorted. "That's even worse."

"Show some respect," she grinned. "You are speaking to the woman who saved your lovely little ass, for posterity. Hey, a posterior for posterity. How's that?"

"Dreadful," he laughed. "Lucky you heal better than you make up puns. I'd be a gone goosle for sure."

A sly smile lit her face. "Better be nice to me, or I might just have to let the facts slip out, and you know how gossip travels in the Temple."

"What facts?" he asked, obviously suspicious of another bad pun.

"Oh, nothing really that awful," she answered. "It's just that we finally completed all our analyses on the arachnoid appendages. The creature that attacked you is called a mephilon. It's native to a little planet on the Rim. There was a human colony there at one time, but it was abandoned. All due to the existence of your little chum. Seems these fuzzy little monsters are at the top of the food chain there, and they're not about to give up their place in the pecking order. Really nasty little varmints. It seems the females of the species have found an iron-clad means of guaranteeing the fidelity of their mates. After mating is completed, the females eat the males. Actually, it's a fairly common practice, in nature."

Obi-Wan suppressed a shudder. "So what else?"

"Well, our testing revealed that the appendage that pierced your throat was exactly what you would expect it to be - a stinger, for lack of a better term. It injected the poison into your body, as did the smaller appendage of the small creature you killed. And if Romy hadn't severed the bloody thing at that exact place and at that exact time, we wouldn't be having this discussion, my little Friend. If you get my drift.

"On the other hand, the other appendage - the one that jabbed you in the abdomen - was not at all what we expected it to be." She paused and appeared to be suppressing a grin.

"All right," he said. "I'll bite. What was it?"

"It was," she let the grin out, "a reproductive organ."

"A what?"

"You heard me."

"You mean that thing . . . "

The grin became a chuckle. "Had the hots for you. Like so many of your female acquaintances."

He flushed beet red. "Come on."

The chuckle threatened to become a guffaw. "You have to face it, you weren't only going to be the lover, Lover. You were going to be lunch."

And then they both lost it, laughing until tears streamed from their eyes. Finally, he managed to gasp, "If you ever tell anyone . . ."

"Hey. I'm a professional. But if I ever need a favor . . . "

"I already owe you a few thousand of them," he said softly. "For a Healer, you're okay, you know."

"Gods," she muttered, "it's completely unfair. Anyone who looks like you should have the personality of a Hutt. You know that? Now can the charm, and let me examine you."

"When do I get out of here?"

"When I get to examine you, maybe I'll know."

As she ran a scanner over his torso, he chafed with impatience. "Hey," he said suddenly, "I forgot to ask you about Romy. Did you check him over?"

Mirilent shot him a puzzled look, but then nodded. "I said I would, didn't I? Beyond a little malnutrition, I found nothing out of the ordinary."

He sighed. "Good. He saved my life, you know."

"She," said the Healer.

"She what?"

"Saved your life."

"That's what I said," he replied, looking at her oddly.

"No," she answered. "You said 'he'."

"Right. He saved my life."

For the first time in the course of this exchange, Mirilent ducked her head to look him straight in the eye. "Oh my gods!"

"What?" He was, by this time, thoroughly confused and becoming ever more suspicious.

"You didn't know?"

"Didn't - know - what?" His tone suggested that even the Healer to whom he owed his life had stepped across some forbidden boundary.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Yes."

"Romy is a girl."

He laughed. "No, he's not."

The Healer gave him her best stern look. "Obi-Wan, I examined Romy yesterday. And, believe me, I still know the difference. Romy is a girl. Or, to be completely accurate, Romy is a woman. Not nearly as young as she appears to be. In fact, judging from her bioscans and what little she's been able to tell me, I'd estimate that she's approaching middle age, for her species."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in horror.

And Mirilent laughed. "Are we remembering that maybe we were a little indiscreet when we were in the caves?"

"The Force hates me," he muttered, seeing in his mind's eye the frozen look on Romy's face when he had bared all before entering the hot spring. He had thought it was fear. _Right. You scared the blazes out of her._

Mirilent continued her examination, probing gently at the bruises on his throat. "Well, I can't speak for the Force, but I can speak for Romy. And she most certainly does not hate you. In fact, I think you can assume exactly the opposite."

Alarm flared in his eyes.

"No, no," she hastened to reassure him. "Not like that. You may hold a fatal attraction for four-meter spiders, but Romy seems immune to your sexual charms. But she is intensely devoted to you. So much so that it could be a problem in the future. If we ever find out where her home is, she may refuse to go."

He sighed. "One problem at a time."

He looked around and noted that it was mid-morning, and there were no small persons awaiting his attention. "Speaking of problems," he said with a smile, "where are they?"

"Anakin tried to tell you last night, but you were pretty well out of it. The new wing of the Children's Museum is opening today. All the creche children are attending, as well as all the younger padawans. And Romy decided to go with them. She's really very good with the small children.

"Anakin was really excited. They're supposed to have a collection of antique space vessels, and you know how he is about ships."

Obi-Wan nodded, and closed his eyes. And saw - something. Brilliant beams of light, stained with bright primary colors, shimmering above the heads of a crowd of children. And a blast of darkness, devouring it all. And Anakin's face, bloodied and silent.

"The museum," he gasped. "It's in the Deivy tower, isn't it?"

"I think so," she replied absently.

"Under the new dome, with the stained glasswork?"

She sat back and saw something in his eyes that sent a frisson of fear up her spine. "Yes. So?"

He moved as if he had not been lying at death's door just hours before, and leapt from the bed, sending her tumbling to the floor.

"Hey, my patients do not . . ."

"Something terrible is happening," he interrupted, pulling clothing from a locker and murmuring a silent thanksgiving that his lightsaber was sitting in a drawer in the bedside table. "Get to the Council. Tell them to send everyone they can to the Children's Museum."

"You can't. . ."

"I can," he replied firmly. "Now go."

She jumped up and stared at him for a moment. "You're sure?"

"Just go. Now!"

She questioned no more, and tore out of the room at a Force-enhanced run.

Obi-Wan went the opposite way, toward the landing bay. There had to be a run-about there that he could commandeer.

He sprinted into the hangar and spotted a slim courier ship sitting on the gantry. He was half-way across the open area when a sharp stab of agony drove him to his knees. 

_Master. Help me._ The message was thunderous in his mind.

The bond might not be very strong yet, but the individual on the other end of it made up for any weakness with the force of his own nature.

Obi-Wan struggled to his feet and made his way to the waiting ship, virtually blinded by pains in his chest and back. _Hold on, Ani._ He sent the message with all the considerable power of his consciousness. _I'm coming._

* * * * * *  
tbc


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: We Interrupt This Broadcast

The Galactic Press Wire Service released the following bulletin to every major media outlet on Coruscant and throughout the core worlds. 

_Dateline: Coruscant_

_At approximately 1030 hours this morning, an explosion was reported in the topmost section of the Dievy Tower, the site of the Valorum Children's Museum. A press release, issued earlier this week by the Museum's board of directors, indicated that a reception was scheduled for this morning to mark the grand opening of the new wing of the museum. Though the facility was expected to open to the general public later this afternoon, the reception was by-invitation only, and it is believed that families of government officials and the museum's major contributors were in attendance, along with several classes from the Jedi Temple._

_No official report has been issued as yet, but police, firefighters, and rescue personnel are currently on the scene. Speaking on condition of anonymity, one source indicated that there is "a possibility of heavy casualties" as well as, "a continuing threat of further complications" in the course of the rescue. The extent of damage to the tower is unknown._

_There has been no explanation for what caused the explosion, but several eyewitnesses claim to have seen a small object hurtle out of the sky and strike the tower. These reports, however, are unconfirmed._

_It is also reported that a contingent of Jedi is being dispatched from the Temple to aid in the search and rescue operation, but the number of knights available to participate is limited, due to recent demands for Jedi intervention in various trouble spots across the galaxy, particularly in the Outer Rim._

_Civic leaders have scheduled a press conference at 1300 hours. Further bulletins will be released as more details become available._

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Obi-Wan Kenobi hurled himself into the courier ship, he found, much to his delight, that he had picked up a companion during his run. 

"Garen," he gasped, winded as much by the aftermath of his recent injuries as the exertion of his sprint, "where did you come from?"

"I was waiting to see you," replied the young knight, who had been among Obi-Wan's closest friends since their days in the creche. "If you had waited half a sec instead of tearing out of there like a pod racer, you'd have seen me, not to mention avoided giving me a heart attack. The way you erupted through that door, I thought the Temple was on fire, for sure."

"Close," Kenobi replied, initiating the lift-off sequence before Garen had a chance to strap himself in. "Not the Temple - the Dievy tower."

Garen took a quick look at his friend's face and saw the haggard quality in his eyes. "Anakin?" he asked quietly.

Obi-Wan nodded. "He's hurt. But I can't tell how bad it is. Not yet."

"Your bond is that strong? Already?" There was a faint tone of disbelief in his voice.

Kenobi actually laughed. "It's this kid, Garen. You're not going to believe how strong he is, in the Force. When he focuses on you, it's like being hit by a laser beam."

Garen turned to peer out the viewscreen, and stifled a gasp as he realized that Obi-Wan was ignoring every traffic rule in the book, cutting across lanes and levels without regard to rights of way, traffic signals, or, for that matter, the laws of physics. He hastened to grab a handhold to steady himself as Kenobi nose-dived under a wide-bodied personal yacht, piloted by a Twi'lek female wearing a fur coat, a neckful of jewelry, and an expression of pure fury as the Jedi craft cut her off.

"Uh, Obi, you just clipped a fin off that floating pleasure palace."

"Um, hmm. Your point?"

Garen grinned. "Gods, it's good to have you back. Why do I always forget how much fun we have together?"

Obi-Wan was initiating a corkscrew maneuver to extricate their ship from a mounting traffic snarl. "Because we usually spent so much time getting lectured about it, we never had much time to enjoy the memories. I think it was a deliberate plot."

At last, they broke free of the restrictive traffic lanes, and got their first clear view of the Dievy tower.

"Oh, Sith," breathed Garen. 

Obi-Wan said nothing; there were no words that could possibly express his horror.

The very top of the Dievy tower had been completely redesigned during the expansion of the museum. On the immense rooftop, intricate gardens had been laid out, featuring an astonishing range of flora from all over the galaxy. Scattered among the incredibly lush greenery, a series of tiny pools, streams, and even a miniature waterfall had been installed. The waters had flashed scarlet and gold with ornamental species of fish, and exotic birds had squawked and nested in huge, forcefield-shielded aviaries. In the exact middle of it all had risen the massive central dome, measuring more than 80 meters across, composed of thick, hand-cut crystal prisms, brilliantly splashed with rainbow colors, arranged in a huge mural depicting mythical creatures of galactic culture. It was a place that had been designed to be a mystical, magical retreat for children.

Now it was a smoking ruin - its top three stories enveloped in roiling clouds of oily blackness, licked with orange flame. Of the brilliant dome and its lush surroundings, nothing remained.

"By the gods," said Garen finally, his voice tight and rasping, "how are we going to get in there?"

Obi-Wan continued his approach to the tower, with no discernible hesitation. "The Force will guide us."

Garen stared at the conflagration still raging within the tower. "It better," he replied quietly. "Can you sense anything?"

Obi-Wan's eyes never left his objective, yet he seemed to look within himself for a moment. "He's unconscious, I think."

Garen nodded. "Can you find him like that?"

Obi-Wan's smile was bleak. "I could find him if he were comatose, at the bottom of a quantum singularity."

Garen closed his eyes, and extended his senses, and barely managed not to recoil from the tremendous blast of terror and suffering that assailed him.

Obi-Wan fought to maintain his calm in the face of such overwhelming emotional turmoil; he had been conscious of the massive disturbance in the Force since the first image of his vision, but had deliberately kept his Jedi sensitivity reigned in, so as not to diminish his ability to function. Now, at such close proximity to its origin, it was almost impossible to avoid being swept helplessly into the boiling torrent of anguish.

Briefly, he closed his eyes, and sought to focus on how to proceed. _A landing site_. That was his next need. He must think only of finding a suitable landing site. 

He paused for just moments, took a deep breath, and gathered the Force to him; he had never found a way to describe how a Jedi could do that, to someone who couldn't do it; it was just instinctive. Beside him, he was aware that Garen was doing the same thing. In the cockpit of the small ship, the energy field swelled and grew exponentially, and there was almost a physical glow centering around the two young knights.

"There," said Obi-Wan momentarily, his eyes drawn as if by a magnet, to a stone-surfaced platform, just two levels below the cataclysm. 

"Is that a terrace?" Garen asked, peering through the heavy smoke.

"Dunno what it was," answered Obi-Wan, "but it's a landing pad now."

Garen nodded. "But it's a damned tight one, Buddy. Don't miss."

"I never miss." It wasn't a boast; it was simply the truth.

The little courier spun to swoop toward the tiny open area just as a police patrol unit pulled up along side. It was obvious that the cruiser intended to force them away from their target, until Obi-Wan flashed their Jedi ID beacon, at which point the officers within the boxy vehicle sent a crisp salute their way, and veered off.

Within the patrol ship, Sergeant Crusp Mahila watched as the Jedi ship plunged toward the maelstrom, and disappeared into the billowing smoke. He then turned and traded glances with his partner. "You know," he said softly, "I've watched the Jedi do their stuff all my life. And, lots of times, I guess I was jealous of them. You know how they always seem to go their own way, and leave us poor working stiffs just hanging around to clean up the mess. But you know what? Today, maybe, just maybe, I got some little idea of what it might mean to really be a Jedi. And I think I'll go home tonight, kiss my wife, play with the kids, have a cold buja. And thank the Force, the gods, the stars, Lady Luck, and anything else I can think of that I wouldn't know the Force if it came up and bit me on the ass."

His partner tried in vain to see where the courier had landed, and could only nod his agreement.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Jedi ship was still trembling from the force of its impact with the terrace floor - when in doubt, Obi-Wan's philosophy had always been, 'fast and hard and no chance for second thoughts' - when the two knights leapt from the hatch and hit the terrace running. Though the entrance into the tower was blocked by debris, it was a matter of seconds for the two to clear a path. Once inside, it got a little more complicated.

The destruction, even on this lower level, boggled the mind, and Obi-Wan had to force himself to stop wondering how anything could have survived this. Because survivors there definitely were, on this floor, as well as below him. And even above him. Above him, where the holocaust still raged, where the screams were still reverberating. Above him - where his padawan was. And, he was somewhat surprised to realize, he was getting input from another source as well. Romy was up there too. Both were alive, for now.

Fortunately, he and Garen had known each other long enough to be able to converse through the Force, without having to stop to form coherent words.

 _Go._ Garen was already clearing a path into a blocked chamber where a large number of victims were trapped. _When you need me, call._

Obi-Wan just nodded and headed for the stairwell. As he sprinted upward, he heard a shout below him, and spared the time for a look at the next flight down. A rescue team was coming towards him, dragging emergency equipment with them. They were making a valiant effort, but it was painfully obvious that they had been forced to climb up many flights and they were close to exhaustion.

"Captain," shouted Obi-Wan, recognizing the insignia on the hat of the leader. "If you'll stand back, I'll see if I can give you a hand with that."

"And just who might you be?" asked the large gray-haired man, "And how do you propose to do that?"

"My name," replied the Jedi, "is Obi-Wan Kenobi. And if you'll move aside, I'll show you."

And there was no further argument. This was Coruscant after all; the central world of the Republic. There might have been a few miscreants living at the subterranean level who didn't know who Obi-Wan Kenobi was, but none of them were likely to be here today.

He lifted a hand, and the heavy equipment rose toward him. "Where do you want it?"

The beefy captain grinned. "Right beside that door, my young friend. And may the Force make all your dreams come true,"

The door in question proved to be something of a challenge. It was jammed solid by something on the other side, and it was extremely hot to the touch.

Obi-Wan, like all Jedi, had received rigorous training in rescue and emergency procedures so he made no attempt to open the steaming hot door. Instead, he and the emergency team spread out and began to look for an alternative means of entry. 

"Here, Captain," came a shout from an area at the rear of the stairwell.

The young Jedi reached out through the Force, and felt tears start in his eyes; tears responding both to the environment beyond that wall, and the horror it contained.

"No," he said sharply. "There are toxic fumes back there." He took a deep, shaky breath. "And there are no survivors."

The grizzled team leader regarded the knight with both sympathy and speculation. "Then you find us a way in, and tell us where we can do the most good."

Obi-Wan nodded and took a moment to quiet his thoughts. He allowed the Force to swell and grow around him. In just seconds, he nodded toward a wall adjacent to the fire door. "There. Beyond that wall is a passage to a shielded area. There are survivors there, but you'll need to hurry."

The Captain nodded. "Take it down," he directed his crew, who reached for fire axes. But Obi-Wan was faster. Gathering the Force, he lifted a massive chunk of masonry and flung it through the wall in question, with just the flick of a hand.

The team grinned despite the gravity of their situation. "Hey, Kid," said one of them, a great bear of a man with a face like chiseled granite, "if you ever need a job, come to us first."

The leader slapped him on the back hard enough to make him stagger, and gestured toward the new opening. "After you, Friend Jedi."

But Obi-Wan just shook his head. "Sorry. I'm going up."

But the veteran firefighter grabbed his arm as he turned away. "Look, Kid. I know you're a Jedi and all, and you can sense things the rest of us can't even imagine, but I been fighting things like this for over thirty years, so you just listen to me now. There's only two more floors above us, before the roof, and, no matter what you think you sense up there, the chances of anything surviving that explosion are practically nil. And poking around up there is a very bad idea. Structurally, the whole top of this tower could just collapse at any minute. Whatever caused this turned the whole building into a ticking time bomb. That's why we need to get in and get out. Fast. Now you just come along with us. There's nothing you can do up there."

The Jedi's eyes were thunder gray as he stared up toward the next landing, gauging the distance he would have to jump to cover the gaping hole halfway up the flight. "I appreciate your concern," he said firmly. "But I have no choice."

"But . . ."

Obi-Wan stopped the man's protest with an upraised hand.

But the knowledgeable old veteran was nothing if not persistent. "Can I at least ask why?"

Kenobi started up the stairs, his face already reddened from the blast of heat radiating from above. "I'm sure you know more about events like this than I do, but I know Jedi. And there are Jedi up there, including my Padawan. Some of them are hurt." He wiped his eye with a sooty hand. "Some are beyond hurt. None deserve to be left up there to face this alone."

The team leader heaved a heavy sigh. "Okay, Son. You get us in; we'll get them out."

Obi-Wan paused and once again stopped the man with a gesture. "There are more on this level, that need your help. And more that can benefit from it." He swallowed around a lump in his throat. "Many upstairs are . . . they're beyond saving, and many others are Jedi, who wouldn't want you to sacrifice victims down here for some small chance of saving them. Do what you can down here. If I find that I need your help, I'll call you. Besides, other Jedi are on their way. I'll have plenty of help soon."

However, professional pride was hardly the sole provenance of the Jedi. The firefighter met Obi-Wan's eyes without flinching. "I understand what you're saying, but this is our job, young Kenobi. If you think I'm letting you go up there by yourself, think again. Now you can either use your Jedi abilities to help us reach that level, or we'll manage it on our own. Either way, some of us are going up there with you."

Obi-Wan looked up into the man's stern face with a semi-smile. "What's your name, Captain?"

"Kacy Bandro, at your service," the fire captain answered. "Why?"

"You just reminded me of someone," said the young Jedi, momentarily stricken with a memory of laughing midnight blue eyes. He drew a deep breath and turned toward the collapsed stairs, sparing a quick smile for his companion. "I hope you guys are not afraid of flying."

* * * * * * * * * 

In the gardens of the Jedi Temple, there was nearly complete silence, as almost every available Master, knight, and padawan had hurried to respond to the distress call initiated by Mirilent Soljan. None questioned the validity of young Kenobi's vision; as his master had been known for his facility with the Living Force, so the apprentice was recognized as a focus of the Unifying Force. If Obi-Wan had seen it, it was real.

At any rate, it had left the lush gardens of the Temple virtually deserted. On washed gravel paths that meandered from pool to pool, glade to glade, a small solitary figure moved slowly, hunched over a knobby cane. Yoda appeared to be lost in thought, but, occasionally, his ears seemed to perk up, as if he listened for the approach of an expected guest. Though a part of his consciousness dwelt in the destruction of the Dievy tower, and in attempts to monitor the progress of the Jedi who were rushing there to assist the rescue efforts, another part was occupied with a growing sense of dread that he could not dispel, no matter how much he meditated or sought to calm his uncertainties. 

After wandering the circuitous paths aimlessly for some time, he came to rest finally beside a shallow pool that spread itself below a small trickling fountain, cradled among flowering quislet trees. And he knelt and waited, not entirely certain that his summons would be obeyed - but hopeful.

His visitor was not prompt, and, several times, the tiny Master almost gave up and returned to his quarters. But, in the end, his patience was rewarded. Sleepy crystalline green eyes watched as a pillar of mist rose above the water's surface, and sorted itself into a pale, fragile image.

"Know why I have called you, you do," Yoda said sadly.

The image merely nodded.

"End today, it could. Interfere, you must not."

The features of the dim face seemed to concentrate, and, in so doing, to become clearer, more cohesive. Yet the voice that spoke to Yoda, was little more than a sigh.

"You aren't sure." It said. "You're only guessing."

The tiny Master did not argue. "True, but if right I am, we dare not take the risk."

"What have you seen?" Ageless weariness threaded the voice.

Yoda's sigh was heavy. "What I have seen, the problem is not. What I have _not_ seen, it is."

"Not enough." 

Yoda rose to his feet and thumped his gimmer stick against the rocks at the edge of the pool.

"Forbid it, I must. Too much at risk, are we. You must not interfere."

The figure's face contorted as if in great pain. "Do not force this choice upon me. For I cannot obey you. I cannot allow this to happen."

But Yoda was not yet ready to admit defeat. "Doom him, you may. In terrible danger is he. Will he thank you, if he falls?"

For the space of a single moment, the voice grew and resonated with a pale echo of the power it had once wielded so effortlessly. "There is no darkness in him!"

"Darkness, there is in us all! He is vulnerable."

The tall, wavering image began to fade. "I'm sorry, Master. You ask too much. Innocence must not be allowed to fall to ashes under the onslaught of evil. To overcome evil, you must have purity. The Jedi cannot afford his loss."

The image appeared to swell briefly and was gone. And the tiny Jedi Master resumed his position by the pool, speaking softly to himself. "No, my Padawan. It is you who cannot lose him. And we, I fear, who cannot save him."

Though the mid-day sun was warm and bright, and sparked flashes of brilliance from the pool's surface, Yoda felt shadows gathering around him and a chill touch his soul. Never in his life had the tiny Master known such fear, and never had he been less certain of how to proceed to deal with it. Standing at a critical nexus in the Force stood a young Jedi knight, his spirit blindingly bright with promise, pristine in its dedication to the light; at the end of one path of possibility lay the benevolence and justice of the Jedi order and the peaceful prosperity of the galaxy under its oversight; at the end of the other lay the pit of darkness, of evil so vile, so intense, so unrelenting that no trace of goodness would survive its ascendancy. And there was now no indication--none--to signal which of the two paths would be chosen and which would fall away into oblivion. Visions previously received, with great regularity, and accepted as cannon, were now strangely silent, inaccessible. Something had changed, in a moment when no one was paying attention, and old certainties were now open to question. But the key . . . the key was the young knight. In his hands lay the future of the galaxy. Because of the purity of his spirit, he should have been the perfect champion to make this decision, but the very thing that made him worthy of such a task also made him vulnerable to the evil that sought to claim him: a fragile, sensitive, generous, loving, compassionate, and ultimately breakable human heart. It would save them, or it would condemn them all. There was, it seemed, no other possibility. And no means to influence which it would be. The last hope of that had just refused to allow the element of chance to dictate the choice.

Yoda sighed, and allowed his eyes to sweep around the beautiful sanctuary of the Jedi gardens. And wondered how much longer the beauty could endure.

*** ***** ******* *******

The top floor and roof of the Dievy tower had been blasted into particles of dust, and the floor beneath, the one to which Obi-Wan Kenobi propelled himself with a Force-enhanced leap, was little more than a physical manifestation of nightmare. Flames flared and crackled through much of the area, providing the only source of light, and the heat was intense. If not for the fact that the interior walls in the area had been reinforced with tidurium, the entire expanse would have been an inferno. But some of the firewalls had held, at least in part, and there were areas which resisted the sweep of the fire.

The young Jedi had wrapped himself in a Force shield and leapt over a wall of rubble to gain access to the area near the emergency stair well. As he soared over razor-sharp shards of blackened glass and twisted bundles of metal and wires, he tried to pierce the storm of smoke and debris that still raged around him. He could hear the firefighters shouting to him from below even before he landed, but, for several moments, he was incapable of responding. Luckily, the area in which he found himself was relatively free of flame and heat, for the moment, so he could allow himself a small period to try to calm his senses. But there was no way to suppress the emotional upheaval within him - not in the presence of such total devastation. Around him on every side, was death in all its ugliest forms. And the ugliness was intensified exponentially by the fact that it had been visited on those who should not have fallen into its frigid grasp for many more years. Amid torn and twisted metal beams, and shifting piles of rubble was carnage of such magnitude, he was almost overwhelmed. Bodies lay scattered around him, some whole, others mangled almost beyond recognition; others, completely dismembered. Horrible juxtapositions caught his eye - and his heart. Draped like a broken doll across a section of railing was the charred body of a young girl; it was identifiable as a girl, only because of a bit of pink ribbon still trailing from a blackened skull now scoured of the hair the ribbon had adorned. Off to his left a collection of limbs, torsos, and skulls was jumbled together, still smoking, the position making it impossible to judge where one body ended and another began, or even how many of them there were.

Obi-Wan fought down the gorge that rose in his throat as he attempted to ignore the bitter, metallic odor, overlaid with a nauseating sweetness that he didn't want to recognize, but thought he did, anyway. The odor of cooked human flesh was not something easily forgotten, no matter how many years might have passed since one last smelled it. Over it all, he caught the coppery scent of blood. The air was black and roiling and filled with an ominous rumbling pierced with intermittent screams that seized his heart. But even more distressing than the shrieks of pain was a hopeless drone of keening grief that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was the sound of children crying, softly, hopelessly, within the grasp of death. It was a sound he had to answer.

Moving with Jedi enhanced speed and strength, he attached a line to a metal girder and tossed the end of it back down the stairwell to allow the rescue team to drag up whatever equipment they might need. Then, almost without conscious thought, he lifted the team leader and the huge individual who had offered him a job, and brought them quickly up to the area where he stood. Under ordinary circumstances, he would never have acted so precipitously or so completely discounted the state of mind of the two firemen. But this was no ordinary day, and he had no time for the finer sensibilities. When the two recovered the breath they had lost in the rapid ascent and turned to mutter shaky but sincere thanks, he was already gone.

In a landscape reminiscent of the deepest pits of hell, with death a palpable force to be dealt with, there was one tiny spark of light; Anakin lived, and Obi-Wan would find him and lift him out of the jaws of death, and nothing was going to stand in his way.

In order to be able to think coherently, to free his mind from the flagellation of torment around him that threatened to consume his sanity, the young Jedi was forced to erect at least minimal mental shielding against the emotional onslaught. He was only partially successful, as he had to constantly refocus his thoughts on the need of the moment. _Focus on the moment_ became more than a self-directive; it evolved quickly into a kind of mantra, repeated endlessly to allow him to suppress his own feelings of helplessness and despair. For death traveled with him; it walked at his side, and, too often, was just a step faster than he. As he searched, he could not simply ignore the torn and broken victims he stumbled across. So, time and time again, he paused and bestowed the only gift he was able to give, the comfort of his presence and the assurance that a surrender to the Force would bring surcease from pain. 

As he moved deeper into the horror, he began to whisper unconscious pleas for an end to the unbelievable carnage, for some scrap of hope in this landscape of damnation. And, gradually, almost imperceptibly, he began to find what he sought. For as he neared the farthest section of the tower, approaching the northern exterior wall, he discovered that a vast section of the support structure of the uppermost floor had collapsed in what appeared to be one massive piece, relatively intact. It had undoubtedly crushed any flesh and bone unfortunate enough to be caught beneath it, but it had also come to rest in a position to provide a partial barrier from the hottest, most voracious part of the fire. Beyond the barrier, small bodies were scattered everywhere. Some, like their counterparts outside the small enclosed section, were already dead, but many breathed still, and appeared to be relatively unharmed.

"Captain Bandro," Obi-Wan shouted. "Over here. Hurry!"

The rescue team leader, and his assistant, who, according to the stenciled name on his protective jacket was called Gargan, managed to navigate the wreckage almost as well as the Jedi had, and arrived at his side momentarily.

"Well, I'll be damned," Bandro breathed as he surveyed the scene before him. "I don't believe it."

Obi-Wan's smile was bittersweet. "They're Jedi, you know. Lots of them, anyway. They would have used their powers to control the fire, to some degree."

Bandro just nodded. "Whatever you say, Kid. But, Jedi or not, we need to get them out of here. Right now."

As if to punctuate his warning, the building seemed to rumble and shift beneath them, before settling. "Can you get them down the stairs?" asked Obi-Wan.

Gargan shook his head. "Depends how bad they're hurt. The ones with serious wounds will be a problem."

The young Jedi nodded, and closed his eyes, extending his senses through the Force. He heard Garen's wordless response immediately, and found a larger contingent of Jedi several floors below. Master Mace Windu answered his mental call at once, and assured him that help would be arriving soon.

"They're coming," he said. 

Captain Bandro was on his knees beside a tiny Calamarian boy, who was making no sound but whose eyes were flaming with pain. "This one can't wait, young Kenobi. Can you . . . "

Obi-Wan spared only the briefest moment to send a breath of reassurance to his padawan, even though he was pretty sure Anakin was still unconscious. Then he turned and extended both hands, guiding the Force to lift the child as gently as possible. Even though no actual physical pressure touched the boy, he groaned deep in his throat and bit his lip to keep from screaming. Immediately, Obi-Wan opened his mind and sent waves of healing energy into the child's body. It was not sufficient to heal such extreme injuries, but it served to suppress the agony to a bearable level. Even through such torment, the boy managed to send a gentle caress to the mind of his rescuer. Obi-Wan felt tears well in his eyes.

As the child was lowered through the broken stairwell, Garen came leaping up to join his old friend. Moments later, Mace Windu and a young knight Obi-Wan did not recognize joined them as well. And they turned together to go back into the desolation.

For the next hour, they fought, together and separately, to find and recover the victims of this horror, and, in self defense, they achieved some small measure of separation between themselves and the broken bodies they discovered; it had become a necessity if they were to continue to function. Nevertheless, each of them happened upon unexpected vignettes that ripped their hearts and threatened their sanity and reduced their composure to the thinnest veneer that masked moments of near-hysteria. None had ever seen such mass destruction visited on such innocent victims. And the tower continued to protest its doom, with great groans of settling mass, and shudders of unease.

As a particularly sharp tremor died away, Obi-Wan turned and caught Garen's eye.

"I can't wait any longer," he called. "I have to find him now."

Garen nodded. He knew that Obi-Wan had only been able to resist going directly to his Padawan because he had sensed that Anakin was relatively safe where he was, and not in dire need of medical attention. But everyone in that great chamber of horrors had begun to realize that time was growing short.

"Go, and call me if you need help."

As Obi-Wan reached up to grasp a handhold to help him hurdle a mountain of debris that lay between him and his padawan, a large figure, face black with soot but teeth gleaming white in a broad smile, knelt beside him. "Need a lift, Jedi?"

Obi-Wan peered at the face, trying to identify the latecomer. "Longo?" he said finally.

"In the flesh." 

Obi-Wan readily accepted the proffered leg up. "I didn't know you went in for this sort of thing," he said as he vaulted over the obstacle.

Surprisingly agile for a man his size, the star captain managed to leap up and reach the top of the rubble before snagging his jacket on an extruded pipe. "Goes with the territory," he said. "When every Jedi in the temple is impaling you with a mental demand for action, it's tough to say no. Would you mind?"

"Huh," Obi-Wan was busy scanning for his apprentice. "Oh, sure. Sorry." He freed the ex-pirate's jacket with a wave of his hand.

"By the gods," said Longo. "I thought I'd seen just about every kind of catastrophe possible."

"Not to mention causing a few of your own," Obi-Wan answered absently.

The star pilot's smile was roguish. "That too, but never anything like this. This is beyond horror."

Obi-Wan merely nodded, and began to work his way around a twisted mass of metal and melted plasteel, spiked with thick, jagged shards of blackened glass. A slight tremor underfoot caused him to stumble slightly, resulting in a long, ugly gash across his upper arm. He hissed through clenched teeth as he recoiled; abruptly, he froze in position, as a phantom pain grabbed at him, rising in his side and growing quickly strong enough to make his breath catch in his throat. He staggered, before regaining his equilibrium.

"You all right?" asked Longo. The question was tentative, for the star pilot knew that Jedi could be beyond touchy about any appearance of weakness.

There was no answer (as Longo had half expected) as Obi-Wan stretched out with his senses. Ahead of them, there was a series of heavy thuds, intermixed with riffs of sharp, popping sounds.

"Anakin!" the young Jedi shouted suddenly, attempting at the same time to separate the bright thread of his connection to his padawan from the pandemonium swirling everywhere around him. The boy was conscious now; that was the pain raging within the Master: Anakin's return to the awareness of his injury.

"Obi-Wan?" Faint, tremulous, wanting to believe but uncertain.

The young knight almost went to his knees as relief washed over him.

"Anakin, where are you? Concentrate through our bond, so I can find you."

"Obi-Wan, please hurry." There was a barely contained sob in that desperate plea. "They're hurt really bad."

Obi-Wan stretched out his hand and felt the warmth of their link like a ray of sunlight through the darkness. A wall of flame blocked his access, and he found that the popping sound, which was still continuing, was from explosions of small shards of crystal embedded in a heavy metal framework. 

With a Force gesture, he was able to smother a section of fire to clear enough space for him to vault over a ridge of jumbled wreckage to find himself in a small alcove, shielded somewhat by a mound of crumbled masonry. At the rear of the area was a short passageway. Unfortunately, in order to get to the corridor, he would have to get past a jumbled mass of bodies.

"Sweet mother!" mumbled Trex Longo, as he gazed down at the twisted remains.

Obi-Wan was momentarily startled to find the star pilot still at his side.

Unlike the other bodies they had come across, these were not human, but they were no less pitiable and no less deserving of being treated with respect. As carefully as he could, despite the growing sense of urgency within him, Obi-Wan used the Force to lift the bodies, one by one, and lay them gently at the side of the alcove.

As he placed the last of them, he was abruptly tackled by a small, soot-covered figure, who would have been completely unrecognizable except for the manic gleam of sapphire eyes and a Force signature brighter than neon.

"You came, you came, you came," sang Anakin Skywalker, his hands grasping Obi-Wan's body frantically, as if to assure himself that the knight was not merely a figment of delusion.

"Of course I came," said Obi-Wan. "You won't get rid of me that easily." He grasped the boy in a quick, fierce hug before turning to peer into the gloom of the passageway.

Anakin was already pulling him into the darkness. "Hurry, Obi-Wan. We don't have much time." But Obi-Wan restrained the boy firmly, and ran his hands down the child's torso, not at all surprised when he encountered warm, sticky wetness on the right side of the rib cage. Accessing the Force, he probed deeper.

"Obi-Wan," Anakin began.

"Shhh!" cautioned the young Master. "You can't help anyone if you're hurt yourself."

"You do," accused the boy, eyes huge and swimming with tears he would not allow to fall.

Obi-Wan distinctly heard a snicker from the star pilot standing behind him, but chose to ignore it. "Yeah, well, I'm a grown man. You're still a snot-nosed brat. Now be still."

Anakin tried not to fidget under his Master's probing fingers, but could not quite stifle a gasp as the pressure approached an area of particular sensitivity. Obi-Wan's voice was calm. "You have glass embedded under a rib, Anakin, not to mention fractures in the rib itself, and I think there's some internal bleeding. I want you out of here, now!"

"Obi-Wan, no, please," Anakin begged. "You can't do it all by yourself. Please let me help you. I'll be all right. Please."

"Hey, Kid," chimed in Trex Longo, "He's not exactly all alone up here, you know."

But Anakin's jaw firmed and hardened under his Master's gaze with a look that Obi-Wan was coming to know all too well. "Obi-Wan, please."

The young knight hesitated, then took a deep breath. "On one condition," he said finally. "You hold still for a minute, and let me try to help you, and the next time I tell you to go - you go. No questions asked. OK?"

Anakin nodded and forced himself to stand motionless while Obi-Wan directed waves of healing energy into his battered body. It was, at best, just a temporary stop-gap measure, but it would hold the boy for a while.

As they resumed their progress toward the darkest area beyond the passageway, the floor beneath them, already canted at an oblique angle, seemed to first drop away from them, then rebound to thrust them upward, settling finally at a steeper angle; simultaneously, there was a sound like great slabs of metal and plascrete slamming against each other.

From the direction of the stairwell, they heard a thin wail, followed by a stentorian roar. Obi-Wan was running before the floor had resettled. As he approached the dark opening that had been the stairs, a rising flame from below illuminated a scene from hell. 

The gigantic firefighter, Gargan, dangled by one hand from a length of metal railing that was obviously not strong enough to hold him for long. With his second hand, he grasped the upper arm of a tiny, Bothan child, who was wailing in terror, its fur scorched and, in some spots, burned away. Below them, the inferno raged.

"Kenobi!" he roared, and, without waiting to see if the young knight would actually respond - for there was no time to wait - he flung the child upward into the open space beyond the stairwell. 

With a movement that was pure reflex - pure Jedi - Obi-Wan caught the tiny Bothan and relayed it to the arms of Trex Longo, who was right behind him. He then, in one continuing motion, with a mental shout to Mace Windu who was moving up on his left, threw himself out over the void and grasped the firefighter's free arm, as Master Windu managed (he would never be quite sure how he had done it) to grab the young Knight's feet. At almost the same moment, the dangling railing collapsed and fell away from the fireman's grasp.

Left behind was a human chain, with the individual who was the bottom link weighing roughly the equivalent of the other two combined.

Gargan looked up at Kenobi with eyes wide with unvarnished disbelief. "Don't you ever give up?" he managed to gasp.

Obi-Wan ignored the question as he sought - somewhat frantically - to access the Force to ease the strain on his arms and shoulders. He was only marginally successful - focusing was difficult when your arms were being wrenched out of their sockets, he thought - but he quickly became aware that a wave of strength was coming to him from the Jedi Master above him. And from a couple of additional sources, as well. He managed to raise his head to catch a glimpse of Garen, standing at Master Windu's side, and Anakin. Anakin, who had absolutely no training in how to use the Force to augment physicial strength in situations like this, but who was doing it anyway, whether he knew how or not.

_Gods, what a kid!_

_Obi-Wan._ Master Windu's Force mental voice was strong and filled with annoyance. _Stop admiring your apprentice, and get that big oaf up here before I drop you both. Have you gained weight?_

_No, but I'm going to be three inches taller if I don't get some help down here. This guy is huge!_

Smugly, as if he'd waited a very long time to use the phrase, came Mace's reply. _Size . . ._

 _Matters not!_ He was drowned out by Obi-Wan, Garen, and every other Jedi within range of the Force communication.

Obi-Wan stifled a chuckle as he heard Windu mutter something about "smart-ass kids". He felt his own Force ability augmented by that of others around him and, as quick as a thought, Gargan rose effortlessly and landed upright behind Master Windu. Though young Kenobi immediately started to lift himself in the same manner, he never had a chance to complete the maneuver as he was grabbed with large, beefy hands and hauled upward, past Windu's prone body.

Gargan stood him on his feet and hastily backed away from the young knight, his eyes carefully looking everywhere but at Obi-Wan. "Thanks, Kid," said the huge firefighter. "If we ever get out of here, dinner's on me."

"Dinner," said Captain Bandro, with a snort as he eyed his assistant. "Sounds like you're getting off cheap."

But Kenobi shook his head. "You guys do this every day! I should be the one buying dinner."

"Master." It was little more than a whisper, but it struck Obi-Wan like a knife thrust.

"Anakin, what's wrong?"

The boy was swaying with exhaustion, but his face showed no wavering in his determination.

"We have to hurry. Please."

Without another word, Obi-Wan grabbed the boy and took off at a run, angling toward the dark alcove where he had found his apprentice. Also wordless, Longo and Gargan pounded after them. As they neared their destination, Obi-Wan realized that the heart-rending wail he had been hearing since first arriving at this level was coming from directly ahead of them.

There was no glimmer of natural light in the chamber at the end of the dark passageway; there was only the random intermittent spark of electrical wires, until Gargan adjusted his helmet lamp to penetrate the thick blackness.

Obi-Wan couldn't quite stifle his gasp. The small space was packed with small bodies - very small bodies. There were at least a dozen children, most no older than three or four, sprawled in disarray around the floor. The soft, mournful keening sound, so full of grief and longing, came not from the children, but from the slight figure that moved among them, soothing their fears with a gentle touch. Romy knelt beside each in turn, and bestowed on them all that she had to give, her tears, her presence, the kindness of her touch, and a wordless lullaby, a scrap of memory from her own childhood. One side of her face was puckered and blistered, and she held one arm at an awkward angle as she limped heavily on one foot.

When Obi-Wan appeared, it was as if she had been gifted by a vision of paradise. "I knew you'd come," she said softly.

He went to her and insisted that she sit and rest her injured leg, then favored her with a small smile. "You and I need to have a long talk," he said. "Later."

Even through her almost total exhaustion, a faint gleam of amusement flared in her eyes. "Not to worry, Jedi Kenobi. I found our sojourn on Ragoon 6 quite entertaining."

"Yeah," he muttered, grateful that at least the soot would cover his blush, "I bet you did."

She managed a smile. "Says volumes about the dangers of assumption, doesn't it?" she murmured, and was gratified when he was startled into a brief chuckle.

Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by a huge jolt, and an ominous swelling rumble, as a new wave of flames and dust rose around them.

"Jedi," said Gargan loudly. "There's no more time. We must go - all of us. Now."

Obi-Wan turned to exchange glances with the firefighter, and read the dark truth in the man's craggy face.

Slowly, Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. There has to be another way."

Gargan stepped close to the young knight's side and spoke in a whisper. "I know how you feel. But if you insist on saving all, you'll save none. This is a choice that has to be made, a choice every rescue worker faces sooner or later. But this time, it's your choice. I'm sorry. But someone must decide who lives, and who dies. And if you choose to sacrifice your own life, how will you save anyone else?"

But Obi-Wan could not simply accept such a loss. For a moment, he appeared to look beyond the limitations of physical vision, into realms of possibility. Suddenly he looked up, and saw Trex Longo standing before him, waiting. At that moment, he didn't stop to think about the irony of such a man, ex-pirate, scalawag, smuggler, all-around rogue, and consummate opportunist, standing calmly in a disintegrating building, awaiting a call to action from a fledgling Jedi; later he would marvel at it, but not now.

"Longo," he said softly, "Someone once told me that you were the best star pilot ever to make the Kessel run. True?"

"Maybe." Longo's instincts, which were immaculate, were screaming a red alert warning. "Why?"

Kenobi mentally crossed his fingers. "What ship are you in?"

"The shuttle. The _Main Chance_ is too big for the tight quarters around here."

The young knight sent a mental kiss to the Force as he favored the star pilot with a brilliant smile. "You're about to get a chance to prove how good you are."

Explaining what he had in mind required only seconds.

When he had finished, Longo, Gargan, Bantro, and Garen all stared at him, open-mouthed. "You're kidding," said the star pilot finally.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Longo actually grinned. "No. You look like you're crazier than they say I am."

"Can you do it?" Kenobi was out of time, as well as out of patience with equivocation.

The star pilot grew thoughtful. "Maybe. With a little help. But that still leaves one very large problem. And if I try to take it out . . ."

The young Jedi shook his head. "Not necessary. I'll take it out. You just get to the right spot and get ready."

"By the Force," said Bantro. "You're serious. You really _are_ crazy - both of you."

Longo's grin grew wider. "I never could resist a challenge."

"Garen," said Obi-Wan, "you have to go with him. He'll need help, Jedi help."

"Hey!" Longo protested. "I've never needed Jedi help before."

"You've never done this before," Garen remarked.

"Neither have you," Longo retorted.

"So we learn together," said Garen, and paused as another ominous roar rose around them. He turned back to Obi-Wan. "But who's going to help you?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Take as many with you as you can, without slowing down too much. All I have to do is punch a hole in the right spot, and ease them through. You've got the tough job."

Garen's expression said clearly that he knew a load of bullshit when he heard it, but he would not take time to argue the point, as a huge slab of plascrete crashed against the far wall of the tower, and everything shifted, for a moment.

"No more talking," said Kenobi. "Go. Now."

And he reached out, lifted Romy in his arms and handed her to Garen. 

She held on to his hand for a spare moment and looked deep into eyes tinted storm gray by the chaos around them. "You just be sure you don't get lost in all this," she urged.

He touched her face gently, then turned to Anakin. "I need you to go with Garen, Ani."

The boy's crystal eyes were huge. "Obi-Wan, no. I won't go."

Obi-Wan knelt before his padawan and regarded him with a deep, matchless serenity, exactly as he would have had they been speaking within the peaceful confines of the Jedi garden. "Ani, if I am to be sucessful in this, I must be able to focus completely on the task at hand. I can't spare a single thought to anything else. I can't be distracted by anything. If I am, there's a risk that I won't be able to pull this off. Do you understand?"

"But I can help you." Beneath the bright courage that shone so clearly in his countenance, there was now the barest glimmer of the fear gripping his heart at the prospect of leaving his Master alone in this desolate place.

Obi-Wan smiled. "One day - soon - you'll be a huge help to me, but, for now, we don't yet know how to work together efficiently. It takes time to learn to do that.

"Anakin, I don't have time to persuade you. I just need you to trust me, and do as I ask. Please."

Finally, the young padawan ducked his head in a futile attempt to conceal the tears brimming in his eyes, and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

As Garen, Longo and the firemen prepared to depart, summoning the remaining Jedi to assist them, Obi-Wan and Anakin performed a quick triage on the tiny victims, to determine which could be evacuated through the stairwell. In the end, there were seven too badly wounded to risk that torturous journey.

Anakin regarded his Master solemnly and made one last try. "Please let me stay with you."

"Ani, I can't. I won't risk losing you."

The boy raised his arms to encircle Obi-Wan's neck. "But you expect me to risk losing you."

Obi-Wan smiled as he returned the embrace, very gently. "That's the breaks, Kid. When you're the grown-up, you get to make the rules."

"That sucks," said the Padawan.

Kenobi firmly but gently pushed the boy into Mace Windu's waiting arms, and quickly turned away so as not to be pierced - again - by the pain he read in his padawan's eyes. 

Garen lingered until everyone else was gone, Romy still nestled in his arms, and faced his old friend with stoic resolve, belied by the tears in his eyes. "May the Force be with you, Buddy," he said softly, volumes of unspoken feelings contained in the tone of his voice. He then disappeared into the darkness.

Obi-Wan knelt to minister to the tiny victims, and steeled himself not to notice how huge and empty and lonely the decimated structure was as the last of the rescue teams retreated from the scene.

Finally, he was alone - just himself, and seven tiny, mangled, battered bodies, that somehow, miraculously, still clung to a flicker of life, despite overwhelming odds. They had survived when they almost certainly should have died, partially due, he had sensed, to the fact that his padawan and a tiny, green-tinted companion had shielded them from the worst of the blasts. He would not allow them to perish now, simply because there was no easy way to get them out of the building. If they could not be brought to safe harbor, then safe harbor must be brought to them.

He knelt in the rubble to meditate - to wait - and to marshal his strength.

*** *** *** *** ***

The rumbles from deep within the Dievy tower had grown deeper and more frequent over the hours, and now, there was a constant, uneasy tremor in the structure, as if something deep in its core was growing weary of bearing the load. 

As Trex Longo, and his companions reached the primary concourse level, they had long ago abandoned any pretense at decorum and were moving at a dead run. Even so, it had taken longer than it should have to complete their journey. All paths into and out of the crumbling structure were rapidly disappearing in a maze of rubble.

Longo's shuttle sat at the edge of the parking apron, and he sprinted for it as he noted Windu and the rest of the Jedi, except for Garen, veer off and hasten to a medical support craft waiting across the plaza. To his surprise, the two fireman, Bandro and Gargan, were still with him, as was, to no one's surprise, Anakin Skywalker. He figured Kenobi would be fit to be tied when the boy showed up on the ship, but he didn't have the heart to refuse him.

"Will you have room?" shouted Garen, as they rushed up the boarding ramp.

"It'll be tight," he admitted, "but we won't have far to go."

There was a sudden tremor of the parking surface, and a plume of darkness shot out of the tower, several floors below the peak.

"Hurry," said Anakin, almost under his breath. "Hurry, hurry, hurry."

Longo strapped himself into the pilot's seat, and gestured for Garen to do the same. "If you people are determined to come along for the ride," he said, slapping ignition sequence panels, "you better find something to hold on to, cause it's not going to be pretty."

And the ship sprang from its berth, straight up, and wheeled to achieve a better approach angle.

*** **** ***** ******

Obi-Wan remained kneeling in the darkness, but his meditations had been interrupted when one tiny, persistent little child, with a mane of hair that he thought might have been as pale as spun gold before being blackened with soot, had pulled herself across the floor and crawled into his arms. Gauging the degree of the child's wounds, he had no idea how she had managed to do so, and to reach him so quietly that he had been unaware of her approach, but he cradled her gently, recognizing that her need for human contact had overwhelmed the instinct to remain still. He found himself humming softly, and repeating little nonsense lyrics, as he tried to convince himself that the rumble from deep within the bowels of the tower was not getting louder.

A shrill, ear-piercing screech sounded somewhere below him as something gave way, sending shock waves up and out, and raising more roiling clouds of choking dust, fanning new life into smoldering flames.

But as the horrible cacophony died away, he heard a new sound - a sound he thought more beautiful than any he had ever heard - the sound a ship's engines, just beyond the exterior wall.

The young Jedi placed the child he was holding in a sheltered spot behind a support girder, then stood and approached the wall in question. Closing his eyes, he cast his senses out beyond the tower to gauge the strength necessary to complete his task. He really hoped that Longo was every bit as good as he was reputed to be, and that he would not be too proud to accept Jedi assistance. Because no matter how skilled he was, he wasn't Jedi, and didn't have the reflexes that enabled Jedi knights to respond to stimuli split seconds before things actually happened. But he could not control any of that right now. He could only control his own actions. He had already decided how to proceed; now he simply had to do what his mind had already visualized. He had discarded his initial plan, to simply fling a large, heavy object through the wall, as he feared that the impact might be too much for the fragile structure to withstand.

So now, he stood very still, very tall, and allowed the Force to gather around him, to such an extent that it almost became a visible presence. The air almost seemed to sing with the power surging through it. When it had reached its zenith, he threw both arms forward and felt a tremendous jolt of pure power flow through him. And the wall before him disintegrated in a cloud of dust, leaving a gaping opening almost four meters across. 

Just beyond reach of the cloud of debris, waited Longo's shuttle, its hatch open, a boarding ramp already partially extended.

The little ship was hardly stable, as it fought the confluence of currents and updrafts in the roiling air around the tower, and both Longo and Garen strained to hold it steady. But, rock steady or not, it was there, where it had to be, and the rescue could proceed.

Obi-Wan had time for a quick smile, then a quicker frown as he spotted Anakin within the little ship's entry bay. Then he had time for nothing else, as a violent tremor shook him and knocked him down. He looked up - and saw the approach of the apocalypse, as the entire twisted mass above him seemed to gather itself, hesitate for the space of a heartbeat, then start to tumble toward him, and the helpless children at his feet.

He sprang to his feet, and, with no time for conscious thought, did the only thing that he could do. He had been told, all his life, that size mattered not; it was time to prove it. The power seemed to radiate off him, as he raised his hands above his head, mentally braced himself, and visualized a Force barrier to immobilize the tons of rubble hovering above him. With an audible groan, everything just . . . stopped. Nothing moved. Even the particles of dust hung motionless.

Obi-Wan dared not even breathe, but the moment - and everything else - hung suspended.

Leaving Longo to fight the ceaseless battle to maintain their position, Garen leapt across the gap from the ship to the interior of the tower and drew the boarding ramp into position behind him, and the firemen raced across to retrieve the children. 

Garen stared at Obi-Wan, his heart pounding in his throat. He alone among the rescuers was able to recognize the sheer power pouring from his friend, and the effort required to generate it. _I don't believe it._ His thought was very loud in his own mind, but he was careful not to broadcast it to his friend, for, as every novice in the Temple had been told (even if most never fully understood it) doing the impossible was less a case of believing that one _could_ do it, as of never even considering the possibility that one could _not_ do it.

"Obi-Wan," he said softly, knowing that breaking his friend's concentration could be fatal to them all.

The response was barely audible - a faint murmur. "Hurry, Garen. Hurry."

Garen turned and accessed the Force to transport the three smallest children, to avoid the necessity of having to exert pressure on their small wounded bodies.

"One more," said Gargan, as he reached for the last of the children.

They were almost there, thought Garen. Almost done with the worst of it. In one more moment, Obi-Wan would be able to move to the hole in the wall and leap to safety. One more moment.

But fortune, fickle as always, had one last trick to play. One last chance to wreak havoc.

As Gargan moved around a twisted mass of rubble, a spark of random electrical discharge flared and startled him into a recoil. As he jumped back, a support beam below him shifted, and he was suddenly sliding into a dark pit that opened under his feet.

Reflexively, the firefighter managed to toss the injured child to Garen, who snagged him neatly from the air, but Gargan was already beyond the Jedi's reach. The young knight clasped the child close, and met the firefighter's eyes and read only firm resolution in their depths, along with deathless courage.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn't quite done yet. He had come too far and fought too hard to lose anyone else on this dreadful day.

As Garen leapt for the safety of the ramp to secure the child, Obi-Wan spun and directed a blast of the energy that was maintaining the balance of the rubble overhead toward Gargan, propelling him up and out through the opening in the wall. Garen was then able to direct his trajectory so that he came up against the landing struts of the shuttle, hard. He was momentarily stunned, but he obeyed his natural instinct to hold on.

Obi-Wan jerked his head upward, and saw the first tiny flutter, and knew. He should have some profound words for this moment, he thought. He should have something meaningful to say. But his eyes grew wide and filled with shadow, as he watched it happen. And the only thing he could think of to say, was the same thing that had been said by countless individuals in countless desperate moments over countless centuries. "Oh, shit!" he breathed.

Anakin, in the meantime, had been helping to soothe the tiny victims, and see that they were secure within the shuttle. But now, he bolted to the hatch, and peered through the hole in the wall in an effort to locate Obi-Wan. It was uncertain which of them heard it first, but it was almost certain that it was Anakin who recognized its meaning. As a thunderous grinding rose from the depths of the tower, the mass of rubble that had hung suspended through the power of the Force seemed to flex in place before resuming its plunge. Anakin saw his Master turn to meet his eyes; saw a flash of sorrow gleaming in crystal blue-green depths, and thought he saw Obi-Wan's lips form his name. Then he saw no more, as the top of the tower collapsed, and took his Master with it.

The boy went to his knees, there in the open hatch, and never noticed when Garen swept him back away from the opening, as Gargan managed to climb aboard.

Longo was quick to swing the shuttle away from the turbulence engendered by the tower's plunge.

From a safe distance, he turned the ship to look back to the desolation.

The silence was suddenly surreal. Either he had gone completely deaf, or the world had suddenly stopped turning.

And the only sound he could hear was the heartbroken weeping of a small boy.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Update bulletin issued by the Galactic Press Wire Service - 1330 hours.

_Dateline: Coruscant_

_The tragic situation following the explosion atop the Dievy Tower this morning continues at this hour as rescue efforts have been temporarily suspended, following the collapse of the top five floors of the structure. Reports are still sketchy at this time, but certain facts have been confirmed by civic leaders._

_The initial explosion was apparently the result of the accidental launch of an escape pod from a Republic transport ship bringing Supreme Chancellor Palpatine back from a trip to his native planet of Naboo. The launch is being blamed on a faulty relay circuit. When the escape pod struck the tower, the power of the impact was incredible. One expert suggests that the effect would have been similar to that of a fusion missile._

_Chancellor Palpatine has issued a statement declaring a period of official mourning for the victims of the tragedy, and has expressed the condolences of the Senate and the Republic to the families of those lost. At this hour, the number of confirmed deaths stands at 127, with at least an additional 200 still among the missing. Tragically, many of the dead and missing are children. Additionally, approximately 320 have been treated at local medical centers. It has been reported that the majority of the survivors were discovered at levels below the top two. Little is known of the fate of those who were actually located in the topmost levels._

_It is now confirmed that the number of children present in the museum was far less than had been previously estimated due to the fact that several shuttles carrying the families of Republic officials had not yet arrived at the facility. Among the survivors on the site were former Supreme Chancellor Finis Valorum and his grandchildren, who were in the building at the time, but had not yet ascended to the museum area. It was Chancellor Valorum's father who was the founder and primary contributor to the Children's Museum, and it is now believed that the Chancellor's eldest daughter may have been present in the museum at the moment of impact. The family has yet to hear from her._

_Rescue operations are expected to continue for some time, but it is now estimated that the extent of the damage, and the total casualty count may not be known for several days._

_Coruscant rescue personnel were joined in this effort by members of the Jedi Temple, and we have just received a report, as yet unconfirmed, that at least one of their number may have been lost in the collapse of the Tower. Recently promoted knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was reportedly involved in transferring a number of badly wounded children from the upper most levels at the time of the collapse. Many of you may remember the name of this young knight, as he was recently instrumental in the victory in the battle of Naboo._

_This agency extends its deepest sympathy to the families of the victims of this terrible tragedy, and to the Jedi Temple._

*** ***** ***** ***** *****

Dark. More dark. Blackness. Everywhere. A death of light. An eternity of nothingness. A heavy, smothering, endless curtain of starless night.

Silence. Unrelenting. Complete. The silence of total emptiness - of a world, a galaxy, a universe - empty and waiting to be filled.

_Obi-Wan._

Oh, wonderful. Now he could add hallucinating to - whatever it was that was happening to him.

_Obi-Wan, you have to wake up._

"I'm awake," he tried to mumble, and was surprised to find that he could not speak. Now why was that, he wondered.

_You have to breathe, Obi-Wan. If you will not breathe, I cannot force it. Please. You must take a breath._

But that seemed to require an awful lot of effort. He wasn't sure he wanted to go to all that trouble.

There was a faint sigh of - something, and a strange sense that something was gathering its strength - for something.

_Obi-Wan!_

Well, dammit, it wasn't necessary to shout. Ow! Did his head ever hurt! And something was sitting on his chest, something that seemed determine to push him down into non-awareness. Now, by his own volition, that might have been just fine by him, but nobody pushed ??? Whoa, now that was bizarre, why couldn't he remember his own name??? Anyway, nobody pushed him down where he didn't want to go.

With a ragged jerk, Obi-Wan Kenobi drew a deep choking breath and returned to the land of the living with a harsh, gut-twisting groan.

"Oh, Sweet Mother, that hurts," he gasped, as the world - or what he could see of it - swam into focus. And what he could see was damned little, for everything was black, and he was tightly enclosed in . . . something.

Slowly, very slowly, he explored his senses, and found that he was effectively blocked off from just about everything. The only thing that wasn't blocked - and that he had no success in trying to block - was the intense pain in his back and his legs and his head. He was unable to move, but could not determine if that was because of damage to his body or just the fact that he was effectively pinned in place. Maybe a little bit of both.

He was also conscious of being extremely cold, and knew that was not a good sign.

But at least he did now remember his name.

"Another fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Kenobi," he murmured.

He opened his eyes, not realizing until this moment that they had been closed, and saw a pale shimmer in the darkness. But he knew it might very well be his own mind playing tricks on him. 

"This is worse than sensory deprivation," he said wearily.

And heard that soft, loving chuckle that had marked so many milestones in his life.

"Master?"

_Yes, Padawan. I'm here._

"But how? Why?"

Phantom fingers that he could not see stroked his face with excruciating gentleness. "It is not yet your time, Child. I couldn't allow this."

"You saved me?" he asked.

_Nothing so grandiose, I'm afraid. Let's just say that I provided a little refuge for you to rest in, for a while. But I can't maintain it for much longer, my young Padawan. You must take over, and call for help. Even now, they search for you._

"But how did you know?"

_This isn't the time, Padawan. Your life hangs in the balance. You must call for help - now._

"Yes, Master, but must you go so quickly?"

There was a faint radiance before his face, and he caught a brief glimpse of sapphire eyes, smiling, yet, somehow awash with tears.

_I cannot stay with you, my Obi-Wan. But I will try to come when you need me._

"Master, is something wrong?"

That beloved chuckle came again. _Beyond the obvious, you mean? You're stuck inside a mountain of rubble. I think that constitutes 'something wrong'._

"Beyond that?" the young knight persisted.

A brief sigh. _You know me too well, Young One. But there's no time for this now. If you don't reach out and call to them, it will be too late. And you must live, my Obi-Wan. You must live!_

"All right, Master. I'll do as you say. But you owe me an explanation."

 _Soon, Child._ The voice was far away now. _Soon._

And Obi-Wan reached out through the Force and sent a mental distress call to anyone who might be close enough - and sensitive enough - to hear.

*** **** ***** ******

In the end, it was a team of Jedi who managed to find a way to rescue one of their own. Despite the conjoined efforts of firefighters, police officers, rescue personnel, Senatorial security forces, and a host of other willing volunteers, it quickly became apparent that only the Jedi could do what had to be done, without risking doing more harm than good. For it was not enough simply to shift the tons of debris that had entombed young Obi-Wan Kenobi; such a shift might very well doom other survivors still trapped in the rubble. No, it had to be shifted and suspended, until he could be removed.

And if there was some small grumble, among disinterested bystanders, about undue influence being used to rescue one - just one! - Jedi, the grumble was quickly drowned out by a chorus of angry rebuttal. The Jedi had, once again, shown themselves to be the patron saints of lost and hopeless causes in this catastrophe, saving dozens of injured children, who might otherwise have perished. If they now wanted to expend some of that same magical effort in saving one of their own, no one was going to begrudge them that, or, if he was, he had better be prepared to defend himself in the process.

Much to the surprise - and distress - of the assembled Jedi, Master Yoda alone had opposed the rescue effort, arguing that such an action was a violation of the Jedi code, but even the remaining members of the Council had ignored his objections. This, in itself, was almost unheard of; the tiny Master was seldom defied by anyone within the Order. But defied he was, now, by virtually the entire Temple, and, most vociferously, by one very small, very angry, newly-bonded Jedi padawan. In the final analysis, it was Anakin Skywalker, livid with outrage at Master Yoda's cavalier dismissal of his determination to save his Master's life, who was the instrument of salvation. For it was Anakin who knew, beyond all doubt, that Obi-Wan still lived; Anakin, who heard his Master's first, tentative attempt to call for help; and, finally, Anakin who directed them to the spot where he lay, entombed beneath the rubble. There were murmurs of astonishment among the knights and padawans, as many believed - and rightly so - that few of them could have divined the young Jedi's location, based solely on the magnetic attraction of a newly-formed bond; there were still more murmurs when Kenobi was found. He was, as expected, badly wounded; in the words of Mirilent Soljan, who was the first at his side when he was retrieved, he was little more than "a skinful of shattered bones". Nevertheless, the fact that he survived at all was almost a miracle, and due entirely to the fact that a weird juxtaposition of tidurium beams and plascrete slabs had come together in a perfect framework to shield him from countless tons of rubble above him.

Though marginally conscious when unearthed, the agony he endured as he was removed from the rubble prompted his rescuers to send him quickly into a Jedi healing trance. As his flaccid body was laid out on a Force-shield transport stretcher, Anakin Skywalker knelt beside him, one small hand clenched on his Master's arm. Mirilent debated removing the child, but noted that young Kenobi, while still unconscious, seemed to be soothed somewhat by the boy's presence, the tremor in his arms and hands growing still under Anakin's ministrations.

"Okay, Ani," she said finally, taking a deep breath to still her own uncertainties, "you know the drill. Talk to him. Try to reach him."

The boy nodded, but then grew very still, the blue of his eyes going hard and metallic. Master Yoda approached the stretcher slowly, crystalline green eyes wide, ears drooping.

Mirilent was a skilled empath, but she needed no such ability to know what young Skywalker was about to say, so she reached over and laid a cautionary finger against his lips.

Yoda stood gazing at Obi-Wan, noting that the young knight, for the moment, looked more like a broken doll than a living being. When the little troll looked up to meet Mirilent's eyes, she was amazed to see a tear trickling down his cheek.

"You old phony," she breathed softly. "You love him as much as we do."

"Loving him," he answered, "the issue, is not."

Anakin remained suspicious, and shot an angry glance at the healer. Pushing her hand away, he snapped, "You would have let him die."

Yoda regarded the boy calmly. "Too young you are, to know, Child. Worse than death, some things are."

And Mirilent felt, once again, that chill that she could not define or understand. She looked once more into the face of her patient, and was suddenly grateful that she had never been blessed with the gift for prophecy. Some things, she reasoned, were better left unknown.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

He was in hell. There was no other explanation. He had heard that there were ancient religions and superstitions that taught that the afterlife for evil men consisted of eternal lakes of fire and torment; that's where he had to be. He didn't think he deserved to be in such a place, but perhaps there were different definitions of good and evil in this place, so he couldn't really judge.

But it had to be hell. No other term could describe such a malevolent, dark, desolate place. Around him everything had been laid waste, and there were only the dead and the dying, suffering excruciating torment.

He, however, seemed to be physically intact, which struck him as being totally unfair. Why should he be spared, when everyone else was stricken with this horror?

_Now that, young Jedi, is the question, is it not? Why, indeed?_

He spun around, but saw only more death, more agony. _Who are you?_

 _I don't think I'm ready to tell you that,_ came the response, smug, self-satisfied. _It's not time yet._

_What is this place?_

Dark laughter. _Why, this is the place where all your sacrifices go. Don't you recognize it?_

_My sacrifices? What does that mean?_

_You still refuse to see the truth, Young One. It's all for you, you see. They all die for you._

Obi-Wan stared at the bottomless suffering in the faces around him. _No. That can't be true. I would never do this._

_See how young they are, Jedi. They would have lived long, rich lives - if not for you._

_No! I can't be responsible for this._

The dark presence seemed to swell from a pinpoint until it consumed everything around him, until it covered him like a cloak. _But you are responsible, Boy. As you will continue to be, until you can stand it no longer. Then, you will be mine. When you are ready, I will know. And I will come for you._

Obi-Wan recoiled from the stench of evil that reached for him on every side, and shrank from the touch of frigid, grasping hands.

The laughter returned as he felt the phantom pressure of cold, sharp lips against his forehead. _Until then, my Jedi._

*** *** ***

In the silence of the intensive care unit, Mirilent noted her patient's brief bout of trembling and subsequent sigh. She laid her hand against his forehead and was gratified to find it cool, almost cold to the touch. The fever was gone. So why, she wondered, was she gripped once more by a growing sense of unease? What was it that was threatening the well-being of this, her most special patient? And why was she now almost constantly stricken with a sense of foreboding?

Again she studied Obi-Wan's face, and again, as always, she saw only honor and decency and compassion. Virtues so pure could not be perverted. Could they?

She shivered abruptly, and wondered if the room had suddenly grown cooler. Absently she reached over and stroked Obi-Wan's forehead, and found that she rather missed the long padawan braid which had hung over his shoulder for so many years. Suddenly, she wanted him to wake up. She knew it would be better if he continued to sleep, to regain his strength. But she still longed to see the warmth flare in those sea-change eyes.

It had been a near thing this time. The new injuries, added to the old ones not yet completely healed, had almost been too much for even her superior skills. But she had managed, as she knew she must. For she absolutely refused to concede the possibility that she might one day lose _this_ patient. She wouldn't; she couldn't. It would not happen!

She shivered again, and pulled the blanket up to wrap him more tightly.

She was being foolish; it was all just her imagination.

*** *** *** ***

Awareness came very slowly, and he was tremendously grateful for every moment it delayed. For, once it was complete, he realized that he couldn't think of a single part of his body that didn't hurt. He even thought his hair hurt, only it wasn't really such a bad hurt, compared with everything else.

He knew he wasn't yet fully conscious, for he couldn't open his eyes yet, or speak, or even think clearly. But it was coming. And now he became aware of the stimulus that had awakened him. And he wanted to be angry about that, because awake was definitely not a good thing to be right now. But he couldn't be angry with that, could he? He managed to control the roaring ache that clanged in his head, and set himself to listen.

Somewhere, there was music - faint, ethereal, achingly beautiful. And a voice, a lovely, angelic voice. Too perfect to be real. The sound seemed to rise and fall, or maybe it was just his consciousness that was rising and falling, but, for whatever reason, he only caught fragments of a melody, and bits of lyric. Still, he thought he had never heard anything so beautiful.

"When the storm becomes the night,  
And your heart is cold with fright,  
Come and find me in the light,  
Where morning is."

He reached for consciousness now, trying to focus on that haunting melody.

Receiving only random phrases, he wanted more.

"Where the dreams of yesterday,  
Turn to dust and fade away,  
Come and touch me as I lay,  
Where morning is."

He sensed a presence - a familiar presence - at his side.

"Am I dead?" he managed to ask, without opening his eyes.

There was a soft, pleasant laugh. "Well, by all rights you should be. Most people who have buildings fall on them don't live to tell about it. But, no, Obi-Nobi, you're not dead. Why do you ask?"

"I hear angels singing."

Her laugh grew louder. "Yes, but you don't have to be dead to hear that."

"I don't?"

She placed gentle hands on either side of his face. "Open your eyes, Obi."

He obeyed, and instantly regretted it, as pain knifed through his head.

"Too bright, huh?" she said sympathetically. "Sorry, Kiddo. But I can't make it any dimmer in here. You're just going to have to deal with it."

He cleared his throat. "Did I ever ask you how you managed to get through Bedside Manner 101?"

She chuckled. "Only every time you've been at my tender mercies. Which, at last count, has broken every major record in the galaxy. I'm actually beginning to get sick of the sight of you, and that's really saying something, since you're so terminally easy on the eyes."

"Mira?"

"Yes?"

"You're prattling."

She sighed. "I know," she admitted.

"Bad one, huh?"

She took his hand and squeezed it gently. "I almost lost you this time, Kiddo. You really scared me."

"Guess I owe you big time for this one."

Her smile was luminous. "You've already used up your firstborn child. We're working on number two, now."

"The children," he said softly. "Are they----"

She dropped a fleeting kiss on his brow. "You did it, Little One. They're going to be just fine."

Abruptly, she got very busy, checking vital signs, resetting monitors, anything to keep from looking into his eyes. But not busy enough for him not to see the tear that trailed down her cheek.

His smile was infinitely tender. "You're the love of my life," he said softly

"Yeah," she managed to snap, her fingers probing a swelling at his collarbone, "well, don't get carried away. When I start putting you through physical therapy tomorrow, you're going to want to punch my lights out. So I'm going to remind you of what you just said, every single time you call me a heartless old witch."

His intended response became a muted curse as she proceeded to pull his lower eyelids down and insert drops into both eyes, drops that stung and reduced his vision to a watery blur. "Stop fussing," she rebuked gently. "You had some infection setting in, and we can't have anything messing up those baby blues, now, can we?"

He stifled a childish urge to stick his tongue out at her, but knew by the smile that lit her eyes that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

There was a sudden commotion at the doorway, announcing the precipitous arrival of a small crowd of visitors, including one very wide-eyed, freshly scrubbed and bandaged padawan, a small green-skinned figure with warm amber eyes, one of which was invisible beneath a bacta patch, a group of Obi-Wan's friends from his earliest days at the Temple, including Reeft, the third member of the teen-aged trio who had managed to get in so much trouble over the years and who had been dubbed - by Qui-Gon Jinn himself - the "unholy triumvirate", and Garen himself, who appeared to be wearing a really silly, fatuous grin, although Obi-Wan had to admit that this might have been no more than a figment of his troublesome vision.

Mirilent greeted the newcomers with a smile. "Keep it short," she instructed, allowing them to ignore the rule limiting the number of visitors in the room, "and don't stir him up too much." She favored Garen with a broad wink. "He thinks angels are singing to him."

Moving quickly - but with touching gentleness - Anakin managed to climb up on Obi-Wan's bed and position himself at his Master's side before the healer even noticed what he was doing. When she moved as if to remove him, Obi-Wan stopped her with a gentle but unmistakable hand gesture. For a moment, she looked like she might argue the point, but, in the end, she did what she almost always did, in dealing with her favorite patient; she gave in and let him have his way.

Anakin's eyes were pools of adoration as he gazed at his Master.

"Angels, huh?" echoed Garen, moving to the bedside to grasp Obi-Wan's hand. "Well, that's not so far from the truth, Buddy."

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but everything remained blurred. He saw that there was someone standing behind Garen, someone in a flowing robe or gown of some sort that appeared to shimmer in the light. But he couldn't make out exactly who or what that someone might be.

"This is my angel," said Garen, his voice laced with pride.

"Obi-Wan, this is Rionne."

The whisper of silken fabric, a fragrance like sweet cinnamon, a fall of hair like liquid embers, and a strong, fine-boned hand grasping his; those were the only sensations his mind was able to register. Then she spoke his name, and there was a symphony in the sound of her voice.

Rionne. Garen's angel. Garen's mate?

Maybe.

And, if so, none of his business.

"You were singing," he said softly, knowing he was right.

"Yes. I came to sing for the children. I hope I didn't disturb you."

He smiled. "Thought I'd died and gone to heaven."

She laughed, and he was mesmerized by the sound, until he looked up and surprised a puzzled expression on Garen's face. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and registered a spike in the level of concern in his padawan. He suddenly decided that it was probably safer - much safer - if he did not get a good look at Garen's "angel".

 _It's okay, Ani. Everything is okay._

The boy still looked skeptical, but didn't argue.

"Tired, Guys," Obi-Wan mumbled. "Thanks for coming - and for coming after me."

Garen's voice was gentle. "Just returning the favor, Buddy. How many times did you come after me?"

"Yeah, but I never had to lift a building off you to do it."

The young, dark-haired knight gazed down at his wounded friend with infinite gentleness. "If you'd had to," he whispered, "you'd have lifted a world."

But his words went unheard. Obi-Wan was asleep, this time, thankfully, without dreams.

* * * * *  
tbc


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight -- Bells, Boots, and Candles (On the lighter side) -- Part I 

When Mirilent Soljan referred to Obi-Wan Kenobi's battered body as a "skinful of shattered bones", she wasn't exaggerating by much. Although she made good on her threats to start his physical therapy almost immediately, his progress was not all that she had hoped it would be. Through the use of a combination of bacta treatments, bone knitters, and Jedi healing techniques, splintered bones and mangled tissue had been repaired in a remarkably short period of time, but neural damage was a much tougher nut to crack and, unfortunately, generated the greatest single obstacle to a speedy recovery: pain. Every day - and dozens of times a day - the tiny Bimar healer was forced to harden her heart (not to mention, stifle her sympathy) and force her star patient to ignore his pain and stretch himself just a little bit further, extend himself just a little bit more, do everything just a little bit better than the last time he'd tried. 

And there was a lot of pain. It slowly began to dawn on Mirilent that there appeared to be more pain than there should be - and that the therapy sessions that consumed more and more of her time and his strength were slowly deteriorating into little more than glorified shouting matches. She had been quite prophetic in predicting that he would come to think of her as a "heartless old witch". By the end of his second week under her supervision, that was probably the nicest thing he'd called her in days. Indeed, so vitriolic had their exchanges become that Gragg, Mirilent's novice healer-in-training, whom she had assigned to administer the actual hands-on therapy regimen, had threatened to either demand combat pay just to stay in the same room with them, or ask for a transfer to the Corellian infantry. 

Originally, when mapping out his therapy program, Mirilent had intended to allow Obi-Wan's young apprentice to participate in the process - to help with the floor exercises and the whirlpool sessions and do any one of a hundred other things that a child of his age and ability could do to contribute to the healing of his Master. In her opinion, it would have been an excellent means to further establishment of the Master/Padawan bond, and, since the boy haunted the healers' wing night and day anyway, she thought she might as well make use of his presence. But Obi-Wan, as it turned out, had other ideas. In a word, he simply forbade it, much to the distress of his padawan. And then, adding insult to injury, had refused to explain his reasons, merely stating, in that soft, cultured, infuriatingly serene voice, that Anakin's time would be better spent on his studies. 

As time went by, Mirilent began to watch him closely, to observe his actions and his manner at moments when he was unaware of her scrutiny, and the sense of unease within her grew. Something was not right with her favorite patient; something that was interfering with his healing process; something he was hiding. The tiny healer registered a jolt of surprise at the direction of her thoughts. Hiding? Obi-Wan, within her memory, had never hidden anything in his life. The entire concept of deceit was foreign to his nature. 

And yet, she conceded, her thoughts were accurate. He _was_ hiding something, and the very fact that it was so alien to his nature was compounding the problem. Because not only was he not healing as he should, he was not sleeping as he should, either. She had taken to stopping by his room very late at night. Mirilent allowed herself a small rueful smile: OK, there was no "stopping by" to it. She had taken to rousing herself from her own much-needed sleep in order to check on him. And, invariably, she found him either in the throes of nightmare so extreme that he was tossing violently in his bed, muttering incoherently, or he was sitting up, hollow-eyed, staring into nothingness. On those occasions, when she had casually offered to give him something to help him sleep, he had refused, without offering an explanation. But she didn't really need one. Though not as strong in telepathic skills as he, she read his thoughts easily enough, through the uneasiness rampant in his eyes. Obi-Wan was afraid, afraid of the visions manifesting in his dreams. And with every day that went by, he grew more and more haunted. 

By day sixteen of what Obi-Wan referred to as his "incarceration", he was able to walk reasonably well, through the use of a cane, and had regained most of his small motor functions. But he still tired quickly and his movements were still stiff and unnatural. And his eye-hand coordination, along with his depth perception, was still troublesome. 

Gragg Runoz, at the direction of his small virago of a boss, had positioned his patient beneath a set of uneven parallel bars, then stepped back and waited. 

Obi-Wan looked up at the bars, then down at his feet, then over to his therapist. "Exactly what," he said silkily, "do you expect me to do with these?" 

Gragg resisted the urge to clear his throat and/or wring his hands. Kenobi might be just a fledgling knight - but he _was_ , nevertheless, a Jedi knight, and, moreover, he was the Jedi knight who had defeated a Sith lord in battle, not to mention supporting the weight of an entire building to save the lives of helpless children. In short, he was extremely intimidating to every single novice and initiate in the Temple, and to most of the padawans, as well. 

"Healer Soljan said you should give it a try. She said you were very proficient on these, when you were younger." 

The knight's smile was mocking. "When I was 'younger'? I suppose that's her way of telling me I'm getting old." 

Gragg regarded him warily. "Hey, Man, I'm just the messenger. OK?" 

Obi-Wan had the grace to look ashamed of himself. He saw the gleam of apprehension in the apprentice's eyes, and wondered when he had become so malicious and callous that he could cause such a response and never even notice, until it was called to his attention. 

"Sorry, Kid," he mumbled, leaning heavily on his cane. "Guess you've caught way too much flak lately, huh?" 

Gragg grinned. "I think they call it collateral damage." 

Unexpectedly, Obi-Wan laughed, and looked at the young healer with new interest. Gragg was a thiandran, native to the planet Wandamir, and was typical of his race. Basically humanoid, bipedal, stocky, and very strong, his musculature was extremely impressive, as was that of most species born to high-gravity worlds. And, because Wandamir was a planet closer to its primary than most, the skin of the natives was a deep, rich mahogany, which served to set off the tawny irises of gold-flecked eyes to perfection. Due to their great strength, thiandrans tended to be superb athletes, but they were also renowned for being highly resourceful and adaptive; any species which could not only survive but thrive on a world as harsh and unforgiving as Wandamir had to possess at least as much brain as brawn. 

"You look like you could do pretty well yourself," said Obi-Wan, not unkindly. "Why don't I just watch?" 

"Oh, that'll be helpful," said a harsh, stern voice from behind him. 

"One of these days," muttered the young knight, "you're going to sneak up on the wrong person and get a gutful of light saber for your trouble." 

Mirilent refused to dwell on the fact that this remark was so patently not typical Obi-Wan Kenobi as to be ludicrous. "But not from you, young sir. Not unless you're planning to learn to fight one-handed. Can't very well duel with one hand and use a cane with the other, now can you?" 

His eyes, usually so vibrant with life and color, were cold now, and still. "What do you want me to do?" he snapped. "Throw my cane away and embrace my miracle cure, courtesy of the genius of Mirilent Soljan?" 

She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that remark hurt, although she was pretty sure he knew anyway. "What I want," she said softly, "is for you to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with healing. It's not your body that's holding you back, Obi-Wan." 

"It hurts," he said through clenched teeth. "Don't you get it? It hurts. It hurts all the time." 

She moved to stand directly in front of him, and, against her better judgment, reached up to touch his face, but he turned away from her hand. Quickly, she withdrew it, once more trying to hide her dismay; he had never shrunk from her touch before. "I know it hurts," she said softly. "Are you just going to give up then? Because it hurts? Are you going to quit, Kenobi?" She drew a deep ragged breath. "Did Qui-Gon Jinn ultimately raise a quitter?" 

She saw it penetrate through all the tough façade he had built around himself, saw it pierce him to the core, and held her breath. Had she finally gone so far that he couldn't forgive it, not even from her? For a moment, his eyes were so full of pain that she had to fight the impulse to reach out and enfold him in her arms; then the pain was gone, replaced by blind rage. 

"By all means," he said flatly, "let's live up to the expectations for Qui-Gon Jinn's protégé." 

In one fluid motion, he flung the cane away from him and leapt upward, augmenting his own strength with that of the Force, and balanced himself against the bars. He then proceeded to throw himself into a routine that his body remembered perfectly well, without requiring any conscious input from his mind. 

Mirilent's eyes widened. "Dammit, Obi-Wan, stop that immediately. You're not ready for that kind of exertion." 

"On the contrary," he snapped, "this is child's play, for Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan." 

Miraculously, he made it almost half-way through the routine, before his lingering weakness resurged to overwhelm the anger that drove him, and he crashed to the mats below him, flat on his face. 

When Gragg moved to help him, Mirilent waved him off, and fell to her knees at his side. A quick visual examination assured her that he was more winded and embarrassed than re-injured, and she waited until he could catch his breath. "Not one of your better landings," she observed dryly. 

By this time, he was curled up in a fetal position, with his head buried in his arms. Abruptly, he laughed. "I would never have dreamed you could be such a bitch," he said softly. 

She reached over and raised his head with her hand, forcing him to meet her eyes. "If that's what I have to be to make you well, then so be it. And if it makes you feel better to call me names, then I'll go buy you a Corellian dictionary; they have more cuss words than consonants in that language, so you can call me a bitch in 49 different dialects." The ice in his eyes had melted now, and there were glints of green fire in their depths. "But you better listen well, Obi-Nobi. I am _not_ going to let you curl up and die on me." 

His lashes - thick and long and touched with gold - swept down to cover his eyes, but not before she glimpsed tears rising there. "I'm tired, Mira. And it really does hurt." 

The tiny Bimar healer, who probably weighed half as much as her strapping young patient, settled herself comfortably on the padded floor, and drew the young knight's head into her lap, ignoring a brief, half-hearted protest from him. "Shhh, my Obi," she crooned, stroking his hair with aching tenderness, "I know it hurts. And I also know it's not just the physical pain that hurts. You still miss your Master. Don't you?" 

He nodded. 

"Of course, you do. And it's for sure this place is going to remind you of him more than most. How many times did he sit in these rooms, and wait for you to recover from some horrible wound? How many healers did he threaten, and cajole and beg and intimidate and bully to make them do what he thought should be done for you? Do you remember when he dismantled that IV droid, because it bruised your hand with the infuser? And when he threatened Healer Marcius with exile on Hoth if he couldn't control your trembling when you got bitten by that toxellic scorpion?" 

Again he nodded, and she noted that his breathing seemed to be growing easier. 

"Look at me, Obi." 

Obediently, he opened his eyes, and she thought, not for the first time, that if she were thirty years younger - and two feet taller, and not locked in to her Bimar biological imperatives - she could easily get lost in those blue-green depths. By the gods, he was so beautiful, he was almost glowing. But there were shadows in those brilliant orbs, shadows that were standing between him and a perfect, rapid recovery. It was time to tackle the shadows' source. 

"I've known you since you were still sucking your thumb, Child, and I know when something is going on with you, that you don't want to talk about. And you certainly ought to know by now that burying feelings inside you is not the way to get over something. So I'm just going to prattle here for a minute, and you let me know if I get too far astray. OK?" 

Warily, he nodded. "We're dealing with a two-headed monster here, I think," she said softly, "but it only has one body. Your body, Little One. The body that blames itself for what happened to your Master, and the very same body that has never quite allowed itself to believe that it was worthy of your Master's devotion. By the gods, Child, it's time for you to learn that every bad thing that ever happened to someone you care about is not your fault. So, how'm I doing?" 

He sat up, and rested his head on his knees, and she found herself grieving just the slightest bit for the loss of the boy who would have been happy to nestle in her arms as long as she allowed it. "You're exaggerating," he replied. "As usual." But his voice was gentle, and there was a nuance of warmth in his eyes. 

"I don't think so. And I think it's time you heard a story that you've never heard before. A story that might just convince you, for once and for all, how much your Master loved you." 

He ducked his head, burying his face in his arms; only one who knew him really well would have known that it was because he wished to conceal the vulnerability that was so obvious in his face whenever this particular subject was broached. "He told me," he said, his voice muffled. 

"Um, hmm," she said softly. "I know he did - more than once. But I also know how he told you. And I know that he never said it when you were awake to hear it, the way he said it when you weren't. Because he could never stand to let you know how much it hurt him to see you hurt." 

He looked up then, uncertainty in his eyes. 

"Child," she crooned, laying her head against his, "I knew Qui-Gon Jinn for over thirty years. I was there when he chose his second padawan - Xanatos, the little bastard - and I was there when Fate chose his third one - you. And I know, beyond all doubt, that you - and Tahl - were the only two people to whom he ever gave his heart." 

Obi-Wan seemed to be lost in contemplation of his own hands, his eyes blank and far away. "Tahl was the universe to him," he said finally. "I never saw anybody love someone so much." 

She smiled. "That's because you weren't looking in the right direction." There was a little, pregnant pause as she seemed to be looking for appropriate words. This was so out of character that Obi-Wan regarded her with a small measure of astonishment. "Do you remember the summer you turned sixteen, Obi?" 

He groaned. "How could I forget it? That's the year I caught Bedean fever, and spent the entire summer locked up in the Temple, while my Master traveled all over the galaxy, on one mission after another. I didn't see him for over three months, and I wasn't allowed outside restricted areas of the Temple. Of course, I remember it." 

She cleared her throat. "As do I, young one. I never heard anybody whine so much in my life." 

"It was just so unfair," he replied. "I didn't feel sick at all." 

Another throat clearing. "That's because you weren't." 

Obi-Wan had opened his mouth to say something, but, then, apparently couldn't find the words. He simply stared at her, mouth agape. Finally, he gave his head a little shake and resumed staring, this time allowing a spark of anger to rise in those blue-green depths. "What did you say?" 

"I said that you weren't sick. As far as I know, there is no such thing as Bedean fever." 

"But I was sick when Master Qui-Gon brought me in. Wasn't I?" 

She nodded. "Yes, you were. And, for a while there, it was touch and go whether or not your Master was going to neuter Mace Windu with his light saber, or settle for just beating the stuffing out of him." 

"I don't understand. What did . . .?" 

"Mace gave you a piece of cake that day. Caroba cake, with ming berries. Your favorite." 

"I don't remember that." 

"Um, probably not, because you spent the next six hours puking your insides out. You see, my little love, it was necessary to make you believe you were really sick, so you wouldn't argue with Qui-Gon's decision to leave you at the Temple, or, even worse, take off on your own to find him, once he was gone. If you recall, you'd done that kind of thing before. And this time, your Master felt he couldn't take the risk. But Mace miscalculated. He laced the cake with a substance meant to cause you to have mild stomach distress, but forgot to allow for the fact that you were only sixteen at the time, and not nearly large enough to tolerate an adult dosage of the purgative." 

"They made me sick?" His tone conveyed his incredulity. 

"Indeed they did, and, if you've ever heard the story about me threatening your Master with a strap, you can assume that it happened during this little outrage. Needless to say, they didn't ask me what to do before they launched their little plot. And when I found out, I threatened to haul them both before the Council and have them expelled." 

His expression said that he was still having trouble accepting all this. "But you didn't." 

She sighed. "No. I didn't. Because, ultimately, even though I violently disagreed with their methods, I understood their motive. " 

She paused for a moment, and seemed to be searching for the right words. "Obi, do you remember a man named Ridgeron Busk? He was a VIP with some mining consortium in the mid rim, I think." 

There was a sudden breathless stillness in the young Jedi, like a wild thing frozen in a beam of laser light. "You can speak plainer than that, Mira. He was one of Xanatos' partners. I remember him." 

"Do you know what became of him?" 

He shook his head. "After Xanatos died, he went underground. I don't think anyone knows what happened to him." 

"Oh, somebody knows. Several somebodies, as a matter of fact. Including me." 

"OK," he said, sighing, "I'll bite. What happened to him?" 

"He's dead. He died quick and clean, which was a whole lot better than he deserved." 

Obi-Wan frowned. "OK, but I'm getting more confused by the moment. What does that have to do with my summer from hell?" 

Again, she paused, feeling for the right words. "Xanatos was truly evil, Obi. I won't even bother to go into how such a malevolent creature could have deceived Qui-Gon so completely; that had more to do with Qui-Gon's need to believe, than with Xanatos' skill in deception. But when he died, it appeared that the things that had been discovered about his life - the dreadful things - were just the barest tip of a huge, horrible iceberg. Busk was an intimate part of one of the very worst aspects of that rotten iceberg. Bluntly put, he was a slave trader." 

"Go on," said the young Jedi, a strange, surreal calmness in his eyes. 

She nodded, but watched him closely. "In the spring of that year, one of Qui-Gon's more unsavory acquaintances - the ones you always classified as 'pathetic lifeforms', I believe - came to him with a story that he felt compelled to investigate. It didn't take long for him to confirm that the story was accurate. Someone within Xanatos' crime syndicate had posted a reward." 

"For Qui-Gon?" 

Again she paused. "Partly," she said. "The reward was worded very specifically. 100,000 credits for Qui-Gon Jinn - dead or alive. 200,000 credits for Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi - dead." 

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Not really surprising. In breaking up Xanatos' crime ring, we cost a lot of people a lot of money." 

She nodded. "Correct, but those terms weren't the terms that concerned your Master so much. There was a third alternative." 

She paused, once more, and this time, Obi-Wan noted, when she resumed there was a tremor in her voice. He suddenly was very cold - and very sure that she didn't like what she was about to say - and neither would he. 

"One million credits . . . for Obi-Wan Kenobi - alive, Force-suppressed - and untouched. Those were the exact words of the offer." 

He swallowed-hard. "They wanted me for . . . " He suddenly couldn't continue. 

She cupped his chin with a gentle hand. "You're not a child any more, Obi. You know what they wanted you for. I know you get teased a lot about your looks so you don't like to talk about it much. But the bald truth is that you were a beautiful boy, and there's a huge market for beautiful boys. In your case, there was also the added benefit that the idea of you being prostituted to every sick, depraved pervert on the outer rim would have driven your Master insane with grief." 

For several minutes, he sat and tried to collect his thoughts. He was vaguely aware of her hands rubbing his shoulders and her voice murmuring soothing little meaningless endearments, but she seemed far away and remote. He was remembering that summer; and remembering now, things that should have been a red flag for him, even then; things that he had elected to ignore. Things like the way his Master looked when he returned from one of those "missions" that occupied so much of his time in those long months; exhausted, apprehensive, uncertain, haunted. Things like the physical scars that he bore when he would come in from the field; scars that he would allow only healers to attend, when, in the past, he had not been averse to allowing his Padawan to participate in such healing. Things like how obsessive Qui-Gon seemed to have become about his Padawan's compliance with rules laid down by the healers, Masters, other knights, and Qui-Gon himself. Things like the feeling Obi-Wan had had, all through that long, endless summer, that he was being watched and fussed over far more than could be justified by a simple flu-like infection. Things like the one time when, crazed with boredom, the apprentice had swiped a scout ship from the hanger and taken it for a brief little joyride - once around the planet - and returned to find his Master, white-faced and apparently furious, awaiting his return; a Master who then picked up his outraged apprentice, slung him over his shoulder much like a sack of grain, stalked through the halls of the Temple, with all the subtlety of a guided missile, and deposited said padawan in the confines of the apprentice's own bedroom, with a threat to "blister your bottom" - that was the correct phrase, if Obi-Wan's memory served correctly - if he ever pulled a stunt like that again. Obi-Wan had thought, at the time, that it was anger over his disobedience that motivated his Master; he now knew better. It was fear. 

"Son of a Sith," he moaned. "I was a perfect brat about it, wasn't I?" 

She smiled. "Perfect." 

"And he never said a word. If he had . . . " 

"If he had, he wouldn't have been the only one so terribly afraid. He never wanted you to know. And let me tell you, Little One, managing to have a complement of Jedi Masters on guard over you 24 hours a day, without you tumbling to what was going on, that was an undertaking that no one involved is ever going to forget. That's why, in the end, everything turned out as it did." 

He turned to face her, and she almost squirmed under the intensity of those electric blue eyes. _For gods' sakes, Woman. He's just a fledgling knight - and you've wiped every part of him from his nose to his bottom over the years, so just calm down and let him know he's not about to compel you to tell him anything you don't want to tell him._ For just a moment, she was conscious of a tiny surge of alarm within her, as she wondered if any of them really had any inkling of just how strong he would ultimately prove to be. 

"Tell me," he said firmly. "All of it." 

"Just keep your shirt on, Squirt." She could almost see his bombast deflating. "I'm getting to it. But, first, I want to ask you a question." 

He shot her that smile - that we-both-know-you-love-me-and-can't-deny-me-anything smile - and she had some small notion that he did it just to test whether or not he could still get away with it, which, of course, he could. "Ask away." 

"What was the most important thing in Qui-Gon's life? What meant the most to him?" 

"The Living Force, and his place in the light." There was no hesitation in his response. 

"You sound very sure," she said, with a smile. "Did he tell you that?" 

"Every single day," he answered, "more or less." 

"You know what I find completely amazing?" she asked, obviously rhetorically. "How one person can hear something totally different from what another person says." 

"Say what?" 

"In a word, you heard wrong. And I'm going to prove it to you." 

She leaned forward and took both his hands in hers. "It took him almost five months to get to the bottom of the story of the reward on you, and he never did resolve it to his satisfaction. As it turned out, it was Busk who actually issued the reward; and it was Busk that got a little bit over-confidant when he thought he had Qui-Gon imprisoned and helpless. It was Busk that took a great deal of satisfaction in informing your Master of his plans for you. He was really a very stupid man who had no idea he was sealing his own fate as he spoke." 

Her eyes narrowed, and Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat as he glimpsed something in her that he'd never seen there before. It came as a shock that Mirilent was capable of genuine hatred toward another sentient being. He could not know the memories she was reliving; could not hear, as she was rehearing, the barely coherent words that his Master had once spoken to this trusted friend, this healer to whom the Master had been willing to entrust that which he treasured above all else - his padawan. 

When it was done,at the end of that terrible summer, Qui-Gon had broken down and allowed all his terrors and fears and horror to flow out of him, had disclosed all that he had seen and heard in going down into the heart of darkness; had spoken of closets filled with garments of silk and lace and leather, all designed to reveal more than they concealed, all custom-made to fit his padawan; a prison cell transformed into a bordello to house him, featuring a huge bed, mirrored ceiling, a sybaritic bath, and equipment with which to record the most intimate moments of a captive's life; a collection of barbaric instruments of torture and sexual perversion, with which to abuse and mortify and mutilate and permanently brand the tenderest of flesh; and lists of patrons: persons of immense wealth and no conscience, with notations of the behaviors they expected from the object of their desire. 

Mirilent had seen Qui-Gon Jinn cry on a number of occasions, at times when Obi-Wan's life hung in the balance. She had seen him sob like a child, when he had feared that all hope for the boy's recovery was gone. But she had never, before or since, seen him weep with such soul-shattering grief; to know that any sentient creature could even consider committing such utter depravity on a child as innocent and virtuous as his padawan brought him to the brink of total despair. 

It also led him to his first and only journey into darkness. 

"What are you thinking?" he asked suddenly. 

She closed her eyes. What Qui-Gon had never wanted him to know, she would not tell him. 

"I'm thinking that you never knew how much he loved you, and that you need to know it now. Obi-Wan, the man who issued that reward on you was a vile, evil, horrible man, who was arrogant enough to think a steel cage was strong enough to hold a Jedi Master. He learned better - in a hurry. Then, when the tables were turned, he thought to play mind games, using you as a pawn in his pathetic little exercise." 

"Meaning?" 

"It turns out that Busk only put up one half of the funds for the reward on you; the rest was provided by a client. Someone that Busk apparently feared more than he feared your Master - silly man. At any rate, he would never name the client. He died, refusing to provide that name." 

Obi-Wan looked puzzled. "But how did he die? If my Master had captured him . . ." 

She regarded him steadily. "How do you think he died?" 

He shook his head. "I don't know." 

But her gaze said that she thought he did know. "Obi-Wan, how did the Sith who killed your Master die?" 

"By my blade," he said firmly. 

"Yes," she said, very softly. "By your blade. Now, this cretin had done everything he could to take you from your Master and turn you into a whore, available by the hour or the minute if the price was right, after, of course, you were suitably 'broken in', by the monster that bought you. And it's just as well that you never knew how close they came. On three different occasions, they almost managed to take you out of here, even with the entire Temple on alert. At the same time, he refused to name the powerful client who was still out there somewhere - still ready to take possession of you, whatever the cost. So I ask you again; how do you think he died?" 

And she saw the realization steal over him; saw a surge of pure joy, quickly overwhelmed by a tide of pain. "He killed him. My Master killed him - for me." 

She nodded. "Busk taunted Qui-Gon by saying that, even if he spent the rest of his life rotting in a prison cell, he would ultimately be triumphant because, in his trial, he would make sure that you found out every filthy, degrading, horrible thing they had planned for you. He would take your innocence, one way or another. And that the great Jedi Code, which forbids killing in anger, would protect him while he did it." 

Obi-Wan was sitting hunched over now, his face buried in his folded arms. But the lines of his body were stiff, even rigid, and he was trembling. She leaned over, and laid her cheek against his back. "He forgot one little thing. Qui-Gon Jinn was a Jedi Master; but, before anything else, he was a man, capable of great love. In the end, his love was greater than his Jedi training." 

The young knight looked up, and his eyes were swimming with tears. "He risked everything, for me." 

She nodded. "He found, at that moment, that he could not allow such horror to happen to you. So he stepped across the line, or so he believed. He struck Busk's head from his shoulders with one stroke. He then returned here, to the Temple, to confess his actions to the Council and accept whatever punishment they deemed appropriate." 

"He risked the Dark side. For me." The young knight wasn't asking; it was more as if he still couldn't quite convince himself of the truth of it. Then he turned that piercing gaze on her again. "What did the Council do?" 

"Sent him on a retreat, to "rediscover his spiritual center" is how they phrased it, as I recall." 

"You sound as if you didn't agree," he said with a smile. 

Her eyes narrowed. "I didn't. You forget, Obi, I'm a healer first, a woman second, a wife and mother, and then, maybe, a Jedi. As far as I was concerned, your Master had done the galaxy a huge service, by exterminating a disease. I don't make much of a pretense of understanding Light and Dark, but I knew then, as I know now, that killing to defend innocence is never of the Dark side. 

"That, however, is not the point. The real point is that, whether he was correct or not, your Master believed he was taking a walk on the Darkside when he killed to protect you. Therefore, he was willing to take the ultimate risk - for you. For, in the end, you were more precious to him than his life as a Jedi." 

She saw the tears spill from his eyes as he reached blindly for her, and she gathered him into her arms as she had so many times when he was a child. He cried softly for a while, but it was not the weeping of one lost in despair; it was rather a purging of old pains and hurt memories. 

Finally, he sat up and looked at her, shamefaced. "You're determined to make this really hard, aren't you?" 

"What?" she replied, loving the light of mischief she saw flaring in his eyes. 

"How am I supposed to call you a 'heartless old witch' after this?" 

She laughed. "I'm sure you'll find a way." 

But he grabbed her hand, and kissed the palm gently. "You're still the love of my life." 

She hastily wiped a hand across her face; he had learned entirely too well how to push her buttons, and she thought he needed to be put back in his place - just a little. If she could just figure out where that place was. 

"In that case," she said firmly, "you can do one more thing, for the 'love of your life'." 

"What's that?"

"You can tell me what's in your dreams that's scaring you half to death." 

And the light in his eyes flickered and was gone, as if it had never been. "People don't usually remember their dreams," he replied vaguely. 

"Don't do that," she snapped. "If you won't answer my question, at least, do me the courtesy of saying so, rather than trying to evade it." 

"Mira . . ." 

She leaned close and forced him to meet her eyes. "It's killing you, Little One," she hissed, "and I won't accept that. Furthermore, it's getting in the way of your bond with Anakin. That is the reason you won't allow him to help with your healing, isn't it? Because you've been such a bersercker bantha that the boy is better off as far away as you can keep him." 

He shook his head, and closed his eyes. "I can't. I can't talk about that. Not yet." 

She managed, barely, not to heave a huge sigh. "All right, Obi, but this isn't over. Sooner or later, you're going to have to deal with this. Either with me or with Varqa. Or both, depending on how deep the problem lies. But I'll let it go, for now. If - if you get off that shapely little behind of yours, and give me a real, honest, blood-sweat-and-tears work-out. If you'll do that, and make a real effort to behave like something other than a hungry Hutt in heat, then maybe I can come up with something that might help you to sleep a little easier." 

He regarded her fondly, but was obviously still suspicious. "A 'hungry hutt in heat'. Ouch! What an image! But what did you have in mind?" 

She rose and extended a hand to help pull him to his feet. For such a tiny being, she was remarkably strong, and, Obi-Wan observed ruefully, her will was twice as strong as her body. "How about sleeping in your own bed? Would that pique your interest?" 

She saw a wisp of shadow move in his eyes, saw him remember that the bed which had been his in the past would now belong to a new padawan - his own padawan; then she saw him move beyond the hurt that accompanied the thought, and reach the point of simply being glad to be released from the medical wing. 

"Consider it piqued," he answered. 

She moved to stand directly before him and fixed him with a stern gaze. "A real work-out, Obi-Wan. Understand me? I want to be able to smell the sweat." 

He wrinkled his nose - adorably, she thought. "You're a glutton for punishment, Woman," he teased. 

She snickered. "Are you kidding me? If I could figure out how to bottle the smell of you, I'd be set for life. I could call it 'Eau de Obi', or maybe, 'Obi in the Morning'. Or, oh, wait. I know. 'Obi in a Bottle'. Gods, I'd make a fortune. The guys would all want to wear it, and the girls would all want to put it under their pillow." 

"Very funny," he growled. 

"Ooh, I'm on a roll now. How about 'Obi on a Rope'? That raises some really interesting possibilities. Or maybe, 'Obi by the Sea'. Or . . ." 

She realized suddenly that her audience had deserted her, and was balanced now across the lower of the uneven bars. "Decided to accept the inevitable?" she called fondly. 

"Anything," he replied grimly, "is better than listening to any more of that." 

She raised a precautionary hand. "A good work-out, Obi-Wan, but not a crazy one. Got it?" 

He managed a mock-solemn bow of his upper torso. "Your wish is my command, milady." 

"I've got it - Essence of Obi. Obi in the Mist?" She continued to ramble to herself, but deliberately within his hearing as she walked away, face wreathed in a huge smile. 

"Gragg!" Obi-Wan called suddenly, summoning the young apprentice from the computer station to which he had retreated earlier. "If you have one shred of compassion in you, get that woman out of here. Or, at least, distract her." 

Runoz was watching the young Jedi's preliminary moves on the bars, eyes gleaming with appreciation. The moves may have been a bit slow and tentative, due to the condition of the body performing them, but they were paradigms of grace and fluidity. "And just how do you suggest I do that?" 

"I don't know," replied Obi-Wan, his breathing still steady despite the increasing pace of his work-out. "You might try breaking a leg, or something. That might do it." 

Gragg laughed. "No chance. She could heal a broken leg and never miss a beat of her conversation." 

Obi-Wan laughed, in the midst of an intricate twisting leap, bar to bar. "OK. I guess I know when I'm beat. Maybe she'll just get tired of talking to herself. Eventually." 

The apprentice healer laughed louder. "I've been here five weeks, and she hasn't run out of conversation yet, as far as I can recall." 

But a suitable distraction came barreling through the door at that exact moment. Anakin Skywalker was like a whirlwind - all arms, and legs and frenetic energy. He skidded to a stop just inches away from the apparatus on which his Master was performing his routine, and gazed upward, open-mouthed and awestruck. "Wow!" 

"Good morning, Padawan," Obi-Wan managed, now just slightly winded. "Why aren't you in class?" 

"Master Billaba dismissed us early. I think she had a headache. Wow! Can you show me how to do that?" 

"Soon. Now why would Master Billaba have a headache, Padawan? You didn't, by any chance, have anything to do with that, did you?" 

Anakin's eyes grew huge, as he began to fidget. "Well . . ." 

Obi-Wan continued his routine, but he easily picked up on the chagrin radiating off the boy like sunlight. "Go on. What happened?" 

Anakin mumbled something under his breath. 

With a gentle, rolling movement, Obi-Wan spun off the high bar, and landed softly, directly in front of his padawan. "Ani," he said firmly, accepting a towel from Gragg, "if you have something to say, always say it clearly. If you're ashamed to say it aloud, you shouldn't say it at all." 

Off to their left, from the office alcove into which Mirilent has disappeared, there came a sound very like a snort of disbelief, but Obi-Wan ignored it. 

"I took a poke at Padawan Marsk," Anakin said, his eyes rising to meet his Master's gaze, without flinching. 

"I see. And why did you do that?" 

"He was talking about Padmé. Saying things that weren't true. So I told him he was wrong about the things he was saying. And he said that I was just taking up for my friend, that I was too young to know the truth. So I punched him out." 

Obi-Wan knelt before his apprentice, not without a bit of difficulty, and regarded him solemnly. "And after you 'punched him out', as you say, did he change his mind and agree that you were right?" 

Anakin shook his head. "He was too mad that I knocked him down. Him being so much bigger and all." 

Obi-Wan managed - just - to conceal a sympathetic smile. He had once been the "small" kid in padawan classes, and had been forced to fight his way out of any number of corners, just to prove himself worthy of the respect of his peers. It was not, by any means, the Jedi way; but it was, unfortunately, the way of sentient beings all over the galaxy. And he doubted he would be able to change it here today. Nevertheless, he must try to inspire Anakin to at least want to find alternatives to fighting, even if he wasn't always successful. 

"So the end result was . . . what?" 

Anakin grinned and extended one small hand. "Scraped knuckles, and a bloody nose." 

"And no minds changed at all. Right?" 

The boy just nodded, lowering his eyes, but peeking at his Master periodically, at an oblique angle. 

And Obi-Wan, for all his desire to appear to be the stern, wisdom-dispensing master, could not quite suppress the twinkle in his eye. He reached out and tucked his Padawan's stubby braid behind his ear. "Next time, try talking it out. OK?" 

Mirilent came sailing by at that moment, eyes alight with mischief. "Probably won't be a next time. Marsk is a little bully, and he won't take a chance on getting creamed by a nine-year-old again." 

Obi-Wan suppressed a groan. "Mira," he said firmly. 

"What?" she snapped, hands on hips. "Unless I have gone completely senile, I seem to recall another young padawan who took on his share of bullies, in more than his share of fights." 

"Yes, but . . ." 

She leaned forward and pretended to whisper in Anakin's ear, just loud enough for the entire room to hear her. "You know what this is, don't you? This is that age-old bit of Jedi wisdom: do as I say - not as I do." 

Anakin couldn't quite stifle a giggle. 

Obi-Wan's eyes were glacial as he turned to the healer. 

She was irrepressible. _Do not turn that 'drop dead' look on me, young one. Remember that I know where all your secrets are buried - starting with Padawan Nia and everything thereafter._

He flushed scarlet as she sent him an explicit image of his body's reaction to the poison ivy he had encountered during his very first attempt at lovemaking. 

_You are an evil woman, and stop interfering with my efforts to train my padawan._

This time, she didn't bother with telepathy, but stepped to his side and murmured softly, for his hearing only. "Just make sure you don't repeat Qui-Gon's mistakes. I don't want to have to deal with another youngster who insists on blaming himself for everything, including death and taxes." 

For a moment, he studied her expression earnestly, not sure whether he should be outraged or amused. But she, as always, was unperturbed, and continued, "I loved him too, Obi. Most of the time - when I wasn't tempted to kill him, anyway. But he spent way too much time wrestling with his personal demons - time he should have spent being grateful for his bond with you. Just make sure you don't waste your opportunities." 

"You know," he replied, also softly, "someone ought to tell you that you're entirely too bossy, and that it's really aggravating when you also happen to be right." 

She chuckled. "You know the old saying, Sweetie. Those of you who think you know everything are really annoying to those of us who actually do. 

"Now, I believe you still owe me the second half of a work-out. I don't smell sweat - yet." 

He groaned. "Slave driver. What else do you want from me?" 

She considered. "Half an hour in the pool, swimming hard laps. And then, I'll let you relax for a while. You might even have a couple of visitors, by then." 

As it turned out, the session in the pool was probably not precisely what the healer had in mind, for the Master had barely completed one lap when he was joined by one very enthusiastic, if not very accomplished novice swimmer, who had never had an opportunity to learn to swim on Tatooine. In short order, Master, Apprentice, and even physical therapist were involved in a water-logged melee that had more to do with fun than with healing. Still, the healer stood in the shadows in her darkened office and watched the horseplay with a smile. Failing to complete the physical regimen she set up for him, on any given day, might delay the final healing of Obi-Wan's body by a day or so; but the value of the light-hearted interaction taking place right now between him and his padawan was more incalculable than any muscle exercise. The physical activity might help to heal his wounds, but the emotional exchange just might aid in healing his soul, and she didn't need Jedi perceptions to recognize that those were the injuries that threatened his very survival. 

*** *** *** *** *** *** 

After Anakin had devoured most of Obi-Wan's lunch - all the while complaining about the taste of everything on the tray - and been dispatched to attend a light saber training session, Obi-Wan thought he might just get in a little sleep. In truth, he had not been resting well during the long nights of his stay in the medical section (as Mirilent constantly reminded him), and he thought that grabbing a nap now (when the entire area was bright with sunlight) might be a good idea and might just rid him of the headache that seemed permanently fixed behind his eyes. 

So he settled himself comfortably against a huge stack of pillows (most of which had been sent by Garen's lady friend, Rionne, who seemed to think that fluffy pillows equaled perfect comfort). As he curled into the yielding surface, he had to admit that she might be onto something there. So weary was he, and, in truth, so starved for the release of peaceful slumber, that he never noticed that he was being watched. Indeed, he had been under constant surveillance since his return to Coruscant, but had been inundated with so much physical and emotional turmoil during the entire time that the Jedi sense which would ordinarily have alerted him to the presence of an observer had been somewhat blunted, so that, now, if he had picked up on any nuance of unease, he probably would have dismissed it as just another symptom of the healing process. 

As usual, he fell quickly into the embrace of sleep; the question was, could he stay there? 

_This was a gray place. There was light - but no indication of what provided it. There was sound, but it came from everywhere and nowhere at once. There were deeper shadows that moved through a kind of hanging mist, but they never came close enough to see them clearly._

_"Who's there?" he called softly, knowing somehow that he didn't want to disturb whatever it was that slumbered in this place. He wasn't exactly afraid; not yet anyway. But he was cautious. It would be better to walk softly._

_"Welcome, Lovely Jedi," said the Voice. The cold, semi-sibilant Voice that had come to populate his every dream. "Have you come to see the truth, or are you still afraid?"_

_"I do not accept your truth," said Obi-Wan firmly._

_"Nonsense," said the Voice. "Truth is truth, which you well know. When you have sufficiently opened your mind, you will see what is to be. And know that you alone can change it."_

_He closed his eyes. "I don't want to see it," he hissed._

_"Of course you don't. It really isn't pretty, is it? But I'm afraid you've no choice. Behold, Jedi!"_

_And the grayness swirled away from him, like water down a drain, and left behind it black visions, filled with charred bodies and flesh cracking and bubbling in flames. Faces twisted in unimaginable agony. But not just any faces, this time. Familiar faces. Faces that stared at him, and decried his betrayal._

_Faces that coalesced finally into one face - Qui-Gon's face. "You could have stopped it, Padawan. Why didn't you stop it? They all died to preserve you."_

_"No," cried Obi-Wan. "Master, tell me what to do. Please."_

_But it was not Qui-Gon who responded to the plea. Rather it was the Voice. "You know what to do, Boy. Say that you are ready. Say that you will do what you must to save them. You can, you know. You can. And the cost?" The evil laugh was seductively soft, this time. "The cost will be negligible. When you are ready, you will see it. And soon - very soon now - you will be shown the final cost of your continued recalcitrance. Soon, my Jedi. Soon."_

_And again, as always in the grip of this horror, he felt the pressure of cold lips against his forehead._

"Hey, Kid." The voice was quite loud, and puntuated by a ham-sized hand that gripped his shoulder like a vise. "You OK, Kid? You don't look so great." 

Obi-Wan lurched upward, and looked around as he if weren't sure just where he was. 

"Aw, dammit, I'm sorry, Kenobi. I didn't mean to scare you." 

The young knight peered at his visitor, while trying to unobtrusively remove his heart from his throat. "Gargan?" he said finally, uncertainly. The features of this rugged face appeared to be roughly the same as the one in his memory of the huge firefighter, but a pall of ashes and soot in the memory made complete certainty impossible. 

"In the flesh," replied Gargan, extending a massive palm. 

When Obi-Wan's fingers were grasped and squeezed, he resisted the urge to wince. "What are you doing here?" he managed finally, then looked past the smiling giant, to spot Captain Bandro standing behind him. And beyond him, stood both Garen and Reeft. 

It was Garen who stepped forward, and provided an answer, of sorts. "We're having a housewarming." 

"A what?" Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and tried to calm his breathing. But the darkness behind his lids still flashed images of his nightmare, so he opened them quickly. And was stricken, just for a moment, by a strange blending of images: Garen's face superimposed on the face of nightmare. He shivered once, then resolutely put the dark visions out of his mind. 

"A housewarming," Garen repeated. "We have everything all set up." 

Obi-Wan regarded his friend with a measured look. "Whose house?" he asked finally, in the tone of a man who wanted no more nonsense answers. 

Garen and Reeft exchanged delighted glances. "Yours," they chorused. 

Mirilent then bustled into the room, which was, by now, wall-to-wall with bodies, considering the considerable girth of some of the bodies in attendance. The crowd parted before her, as the sea before the prow of a great ship, despite the fact that she was dwarfed by every other body in the room. 

She laid her hand on his forehead, in a classic healer gesture meant to convey that she was checking his temperature; in actuality, it was just an excuse for a caress. "You're going home, Love," she said, "if you can convince me that you'll follow my orders exactly, and be here tomorrow morning for therapy, as well as every morning for the next two weeks. At least." 

Obi-Wan grinned. "Anything. I'll do anything." 

Her grimace was comical. "Oh, my stars, Child. You don't say things like that, not even to a cranky old woman. Someone, one day, is going to take you up on it." 

"Mira," he groaned. "What do I have to do?" 

She grinned. "Just rest, mostly. Mild exercise. Sensible diet. Walks in the fresh air." 

"Is that it?" 

"Almost," she answered, eyes gleaming. And she reached out to touch his chin, tapping her finger lightly with each point she made. "No light saber, no katas, no missions, no sex, no light saber, no fighting, no sex, no light saber, no sex. Got it?" 

He reddened abruptly, noting the delighted grins on the faces of his visitors. "Got it. Now, can I go?" 

Gragg came through the door, pushing a hover chair. 

"I don't need that," said the young knight. 

"Are you arguing with your healer's judgment?" asked Mirilent. "Because, if you are, that would surely be a sign that you aren't well enough to be released." 

"OK, OK," he conceded. "I'll ride in the damned thing." 

They made quite a procession as they made their way out of the healers' wing, with Garen pushing Obi-Wan in the hover chair, and the others tagging behind, juggling the young knight's possessions. It had not escaped young Kenobi's notice that something was most definitely up; all of them were just a shade too eager to get him home. He very deliberately suppressed his inner reaction to the use of that term 'home', not willing to inflict on all of them the conflicting emotions within him regarding the apartment he had shared for so many years with his Master. He would smile through this, and express gratitude for their efforts, whatever form those efforts might have taken. 

When they actually exited the healers' wing, he felt a huge sense of relief. Much as he loved Mirilent - and he really did love her, in his own, very special way - he also really hated being in her clutches, or that of any other healer. So he was smiling broadly as they made their way down the hall, exchanging greetings with other Jedi they encountered. 

Just as they were about to turn a corner and pass out of sight - and sound - of the healers' wing, Obi-Wan looked back and caught a glimpse of Mirilent leaning through the open doorway, wearing an evil grin. Oh, no. She wouldn't. Would she? 

"Remember what I said," she shouted. _"No sex!"_

His face flamed brilliant red, as friends, acquaintances - and perfect strangers - erupted with laughter. 

As Mirilent turned away from the doorway, eyes alight with contentment, she came face to face with her husband, who gazed at her askance. But she could hardly fail to register his own amusement. 

"Why do you do that to him?" he asked, trying not to smile. 

But she was unabashed. "Because he blushes so beautifully. And because it amazes me that he still does it." 

He regarded her solemnly. "Why do I get the feeling that you're thinking you might not be able to make him blush for much longer? 

She took his arm as they began walking back to her office. "Because his propensity for blushing is probably one of the most obvious characteristics of his innocence. And because, all things considered, I guess I have to be prepared for the fact that innocence can't be preserved forever. Sooner or later, he's going to lose it. I was even afraid, for a while, that killing the Sith might have done it. But it didn't." 

Varqa leaned his head over to touch hers. "What else, my love? I know you too well to think this is just idle speculation." 

Her eyes grew dark and shadowed. "I wish I knew how to answer that. There is something happening, inside his mind. Something he's not willing to share. Something - dangerous." 

"Sounds like a job for me," said her mind-healer husband. 

She nodded, somewhat absently. "True, if he lets you in on whatever it is. But keep in mind that this is Qui-Gon Jinn's apprentice we're dealing with here - a Master who elevated secret-keeping to a whole new art form. Let's just hope the padawan proves to be less paranoid." 

*** *** *** *** *** *** 

When Obi-Wan and company arrived at the door of his apartment, there was a hurried, whispered consultation between his companions, and he waited patiently for them to sort out whatever needed sorting. 

At last, Reeft moved forward, his arms filled with the stack of pillows from Obi-Wan's hospital bed, and, with a murmured apology to the apartment's occupant, slipped inside, reclosing the door behind him. 

"Garen," Obi-Wan said finally, allowing a trace of his weariness to creep into his voice, "what's going on?" 

"Patience, Buddy. One more minute. OK?" 

"Look. I really appreciate everything but . . ." 

"Hey, Kid," said Gargan, moving to kneel in front of Obi-Wan's chair, "just hang on for a few minutes. You did a lot of good for a lot of people, and your friends are trying to do some good for you." 

Obi-Wan regarded the huge man quietly for a moment, observing soft brown eyes that revealed a surprising depth of gentleness. "I don't think I ever caught your full name, Sir," he said softly. 

The firefighter actually blushed. "Just Gargan. OK?" Obi-Wan didn't miss the faint tone of defiance in the comment. 

"Sure. OK," said the young knight. "But you never told me what you guys are doing here." 

Captain Bandro leaned over and grasped Kenobi's hand. "We're just here to welcome you home, and to make sure they're taking good care of you. Fire and rescue people never forget a good turn, and you did us a hell of a good turn, Kiddo." 

Obi-Wan just ducked his head, uncomfortable with the gratitude he read in the fireman's eyes. 

Luckily, at that exact moment, the door to his quarters sprang open, and Reeft stood in the opening, wearing a huge, silly grin. "Hail to the conquering hero," he announced, and bowed low with a sweeping gesture as Garen pushed the hover chair through the door. 

Obi-Wan was immediately glad that no one seemed to expect him to speak, because he was immediately speechless. 

If he hadn't known with certainty that this was, indeed, his apartment; hadn't noticed the name tag on the door - the one that used to say "Jinn/Kenobi" that now said "Kenobi/Skywalker" - he would have sworn he was in the wrong quarters. For everything was different, while, at the same time, everything was the same. The furniture was not new and was in the same place, but it was different. Shapes remained unchanged; but colors and textures were altered. And, overall, though the rooms were structurally as they had always been, they were also as they had never been. 

The only really obvious change was the presence - on virtually every surface - of candles; dozens of candles; maybe hundreds of candles, all brightly aglow, flames dancing in a breath of wind from an open terrace door, scenting the air with a light, spicy fragrance that was somehow reminiscent of fresh-baked bread, one of Obi-Wan's favorite smells. 

Obi-Wan looked up at Garen, and could not quite conceal the conflicting emotions within him. He was both relieved that someone had elected to make the transition from Padawan to Master as painless as possible, and dismayed that he had not been consulted in the process. 

Garen knelt before him and regarded him with warmth and sympathy. When he spoke, his words were for Obi-Wan alone, as everyone else was suddenly otherwise occupied. "We discarded nothing, Obi. Everything has been carefully packed away, for you to go through when you're ready. And we left a few things in place; things we thought you wouldn't want out of your sight. But we all thought that you needed a cushion - a comfort zone to help you through this." 

"Who did all this?" asked Obi-Wan, as his eyes began to register details of the transformation; everything from new covers on the couch - similar in color but different in design and texture, to different lamp shades on light fixtures, to fresh paint on the walls. 

Garen grinned. "Mostly Rionne. You know that if Reeft and I had done it, you'd have wound up with puke green walls and blood red carpet. Neither one of us could decorate our way out of a paper bag. The candles are her doing, too. She claims that nothing changes a room more, than changing the scent of it. Hence, the candles." 

Obi-Wan once more scanned the sitting room. "Good thing we've got the fire department on call," he said finally. 

At that moment, Anakin came bouncing into the room, racing from his own, new bedroom "Isn't it all wizard, Obi-Wan? My room is super neat. Rionne even found me a wallpaper with all different kinds of droids on it." 

"Very wizard, Ani," said Obi-Wan, his voice not quite steady. 

Garen wordlessly reached down and helped his friend to his feet, and turned him to face the door that led into the other bedroom in the apartment - the bedroom that had been Qui-Gon's. 

"Go," said Garen, in a whisper. "We'll wait out here. Just call if you need us." 

Obi-Wan nodded and moved forward. When Anakin would have followed, Garen reached out and restrained him with a gentle hand, his eyes conveying the message that this was something the young Jedi would have to do by himself. 

Quickly, without giving himself time for second thoughts, Obi-Wan opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. His eyes were closed as he struggled to control the feelings that surged within him. 

He opened his eyes, and let out a huge sigh of relief. For though the ubiquitous candles were here, and though the coverlet on the large bed was new and different, as were the curtains looped over the window, everything else was unchanged. Including the holocube that sat squarely in the center of the massive desk. Obi-Wan leaned forward and activated the cube, then sank gratefully into the large, somewhat scruffy old desk chair that Qui-Gon had loved so much. The image above the cube swirled momentarily before forming up. It had been taken almost eight years before, on the occasion of Obi-Wan's first championship in the annual light saber tournament. The padawan, looking, to his older self, impossibly young, was standing with his head slightly bowed as his Master, trying very hard not to beam with pride, affixed a carved, gem-encrusted medal to his tunic. 

Tears stung Obi-Wan's eyes, as he pulled open the top drawer of the desk and saw the velvet lined case that contained all his medals. He had won many more of them over the years, but none more special than that first one. He closed his eyes, and saw his Master's face, just as he had seen it on that day so long ago. 

The final match that day - the one that would determine the identity of the champion - had been against a Corellian padawan named Quant, a skilled, experienced fighter who had a substantial height and weight advantage over Obi-Wan; in addition, he had other advantages, as it was rumored he was ready for his knighthood trials. He was, therefore, considerably older than his opponent and more seasoned. 

Prior to the match, Obi-Wan had been trying to maintain an appearance of confidence and serenity, but however successful he might have been with the spectators in the arena, he had not fooled his Master. 

Qui-Gon had leaned forward and put his hands on his Padawan's shoulders, and waited for Obi-Wan to meet his eyes. His words had been soft as feathers, but their impact on his apprentice had been staggering. "You do not win battles with this . . ." He'd reached out and touched Obi-Wan's light saber, "or with this . . ." He'd touched the muscles in Obi-Wan's arm,"or even with this . . ." He'd laid a finger against Obi-Wan's temple. "You win battles with this." And he'd laid his palm against Obi-Wan's heart. "Do you understand me, Padawan?" 

And Obi-Wan had smiled. "Yes, Master." And he had understood. And sometimes, even now, he still understood. He just wished it came as easily to him, as instinctively, as it had always come to his master. 

There was a discreet knock at the door, discreet enough to allow him to ignore it if he chose, but he opened it quickly, with a wave of his hand. Loitering in this room for too long - steeping himself in memory - did not strike him as being a prudent course of action at this moment. 

"Master Mace," he greeted the new arrival, without turning from his contemplation of the holo-image. 

"Am I disturbing you, Obi-Wan?" 

"Not at all," said the young knight, although his tone was somewhat distracted, as if his thoughts and his words were virtually unconnected. "I probably need someone to talk to . . . to keep me from sliding from pensive all the way down to morbid." 

Mace smiled and seated himself on the over-sized bed that had been necessary to accommodate Qui-Gon's great height. "So how are you . . . and I know that ranks right up there among the stupidest questions of all time, but I really want to know." 

Obi-Wan rose and moved to stand at the window. Coruscant weather control had apparently programmed a gentle rain for this afternoon, and the light reflecting on his face traced filigrees of silver in his eyes. 

"I'm . . . enduring," he answered, after a long pause. 

Mace stood and joined the young Jedi at the window, laying his massive hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Did you realize, Obi, that your Master and I were friends for more than forty years? We were initiates together, then padawans together. We even went on our first mission together, as knights." He paused briefly, as if debating whether or not to continue. Finally, with a huge sigh, he did. "He was even the godfather of my only child." 

Obi-Wan turned to regard the Jedi Master with widened eyes. "You have a child, Master Mace?" 

"Had, Obi-Wan," Mace replied. "Had." 

"I'm sorry, Master," the young knight's voice was little more than a whisper. "I didn't know." 

Mace nodded. "It was a long time ago, before you were born. Qui-Gon was there when she was born, and there when she died. You know, sometimes a person becomes such a fixture in your life, that you never even consider the possibility of losing them." 

Obi-Wan drew a deep, tremulous breath. "And you find yourself adrift, without an anchor." 

Master Windu studied the young man's face and saw a single tear spill from beneath long, golden lashes, and he stepped forward and drew Obi-Wan into a quick, fierce embrace, before releasing him and stepping back. "I can't replace Qui-Gon for you, Obi-Wan. I don't think anyone could, or that you'd even want that." His voice was firm, but seemed to contain volumes of thoughts unspoken, as he walked a fine line in an attempt to offer solace and reassurance without robbing Obi-Wan of the dignity and respect that was his due. 

"Your Master was the quintessential maverick, you know. And, by the gods, did we ever have some unforgettable fights over our differences!" 

Obi-Wan smiled. "I always figured the two of you had a lot of history between you - the kind of history you don't share with your padawans. Why are you telling me this now?" 

Mace turned back to the window. "Because he was the best friend I ever had, Obi. And because I know you had some uncertainties about his feelings for you, because of the circumstances of his death. I knew him better than anyone else ever did, except maybe Tahl, or Master Yoda, of course. And I want to make sure you understand something. It was never easy for him to open up and let his feelings show. He was a very private man. But I had the advantage of a very long acquaintance, so I learned to recognize the signs. So you need to hear me when I tell you . . ." He reached out and turned Obi-Wan's face away from the window until he was able to meet those blue-green eyes, awash now with more tears, "I never saw him love anyone more than he loved you. Never. Not even Tahl." 

There was no sound other than the gentle patter of rain against the window as Obi-Wan closed his eyes and fought for control, fought against surrendering to his grief . . . again. 

Mace continued, his hand once more braced against the young man's shoulder. "He was my brother, Obi, in every way that mattered. And since he was good enough to be godfather to my child, I think it only fitting that I return the favor. You are not alone, young one. You'll never be alone. I'm not a rebel - like he was - but I don't think you'll ever need that from anyone else. It appears to me that he already taught you all you'll need to know in that respect. But, for anything else that you do need, I'm here. And I want your pledge that you won't hesitate to ask for any help you might need." 

"I appreciate the offer," said Obi-Wan, but his tone was distant, almost distracted. 

"Obi-Wan, do you know what they're calling you these days?" Mace kept his inflection light, careful not to betray his growing concerns. 

"They who?" Obi-Wan asked with a grin. "I've had more nicknames in my life than Hutts have warts." 

"They - being practically everyone in the Temple, as well as a large contingent of the general population of the galaxy." 

"OK, I'll bite. What are they calling me?" 

Mace once more sat down on the bed. "The draigon-slayer." 

Obi-Wan's eyes flashed bright as crystal as he turned to the window once more, and the expression in those blue-green depths was elusive - difficult to gauge - but Windu could only describe it to himself as wounded. "Wonderful," breathed the younger Jedi. 

Windu nodded. "And I need to be sure you won't allow yourself to be dragged into this particular little fantasy." 

"You needn't worry, Master," Obi-Wan sighed. "I'm harboring no illusions about my abilities." 

Windu was momentarily silent as he studied the young knight's profile. "Obi-Wan, you need to concentrate now on your recovery, and on building the bond between you and your apprentice. But, once you've dealt with all that, we need to sit down and have a long talk." 

"About?" Still distant, still distracted. 

"About your future. Your Master was convinced, as am I, that you are destined to be a great Jedi knight, Obi. Perhaps even _the_ great Jedi knight - the one who will save us all. You've already accomplished extraordinary things. It's obvious that you have vastly superior ability." 

"Which breeds vastly superior temptation," the younger Jedi answered, still not completely immersed in the present moment. 

Mace Windu smiled. "Now that is definitely a Qui-Gon Jinn axiom." 

"Master Mace?" 

"Yes." 

"The summer I turned sixteen, did you and my Master really make me sick?" 

The Jedi Master groaned. "I knew it. I knew that little blabbermouth would spill the beans one day. Wait til I get my hands on that little quack." 

"So the story is true?" 

And Mace paused in his rant to note the tremor in Obi-Wan's hand as he reached out and touched the window pane, tracing trails of rain with a fingertip. "It's true," he said hoarsely, speaking around a sudden lump in his throat. "And if that doesn't convince you of how much he loved you, nothing will." 

Obi-Wan just nodded, and then turned and looked down at his Master's bed. "I'd forgotten how big this thing is," he said softly, suddenly lost in memories of those nights when he was very young, when nightmare had driven him from his own bed and brought him to this one, his heart pounding in his throat; nights when his Master had simply opened his arms and cradled his Padawan against the terrors of his dreams, never requiring any reason for doing so beyond the desperate needs of a frightened child. "Maybe I should exchange it for a smaller one." 

Mace stood and reached out to brush his hand across the young knight's soft, spiky hair, and found, like Mirilent Soljan before him, that he rather missed the long, slender braid that had hung behind that ear for so many years. "Don't make any changes for a while. OK? You need to ease back into your life. Give yourself a chance to heal. And don't worry about filling his bed. I think he did a pretty good job of making sure you'd be ready to fill his shoes." 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and registered the light spicy scent of the candles still flickering on every flat surface in the room. 

Obviously, there had been no serious intent to eradicate the memories that existed within these walls, but the fragrance, at least, was different, and Obi-Wan rather thought that was helpful in his present state of mind. Nothing, he had heard, could jog a memory more intensely than a forgotten odor, and he really didn't think he could deal with any memories more intense than the ones he was already experiencing. 

"Where is my benefactress?" he asked suddenly. "If Master Rionne is responsible for all this . . ." his hand swept around the room, "I really need to express my thanks." 

"Garen didn't tell you? She's not here, Obi. She's at the grotto excavation on the sanctuary moon." 

Obi-Wan frowned. "OK, now I'm confused. Isn't she a singer slash musician slash songwriter? What's she doing at an archeological dig?" 

"She's also a very gifted cultural historian, specializing in music history. And they've unearthed some extraordinary musical artifacts in the grotto. She'll be back in a few days. In the meantime, her padawan is here. And waiting to greet you with a Cirsean welcoming ceremony, I believe." 

"She's Cirsean?" Obi-Wan was surprised. There were very few Cirsean Jedi, as the Cirseans considered Force sensitivity to be a symptom of demonic possession and routinely lobotomized children exhibiting such abilities. 

"Half Cirsean," replied Windu. "Kammian's father was human, and she was removed from Cirsei before her Force abilities manifested themselves." 

"But still - a Cirsean ceremony?" Obi-Wan's misgivings were obvious in his tone, and perfectly logical, given the usual nature of Cirsean rituals. 

Windu smiled. "Don't worry, Obi-Wan. She's a very small Cirsean. Probably won't even draw blood." 

The Jedi Master was still chuckling over the fleeting look of alarm in young Kenobi's eyes, as they exited the bedroom, to find the living area of the small apartment literally overflowing with bodies - bodies that had overflowed into the corridor, as well as out onto the terrace despite the continuing rainfall. 

Obi-Wan was overwhelmed. 

Someone - he was never sure exactly who - had laid out a simple buffet spread, mostly soft drinks, cheeses, breads and fruits, and the crowd was circulating easily. No one came forward to monopolize the guest of honor, but everyone managed to get close enough to murmur a word of greeting, or to touch his hand or lay a palm against his shoulder. The Jedi Council was well represented, with Masters Yaddle, Plo Koon, Adi Gallia, Depa Billaba, and, of course, Mace Windu in attendance. Standing on the terrace - and filling it from rail to rail without any concession to the inclemency of the weather - were Trex Longo, Captain Bandro and his associate, the singularly named Gargan, along with several other members of the Fire/Rescue team. 

Also present were assorted Jedi Masters, knights, and padawans, many of whom had known Obi-Wan since the day he had been brought to the creche. He saw classmates, and old friends; teachers and companions; healers and trainees; and even a few civilian employees of the Temple. Romey was helping to serve trays of delicate little appetizers, and Anakin was mostly just getting underfoot, between trips to the terrace to marvel at the wonder of water actually falling from the sky, but seemed to be enjoying himself enormously. Mirilent and Varqa Soljan were arm-in-arm, except for the few moments when both of them pulled Obi-Wan into the center of their exclusive little circle and told him - without actually saying a word - how special and precious he was to them, despite Mirilent's penchant for tormenting him at every possible opportunity. 

And, of course, front and center and beaming were Garen and Reeft, both wreathed in huge smiles, and both, now that he took a good look at them, with a suggestion of shadow in their eyes. Garen, dark of eye and hair and almost as tall as Master Qui-Gon had been, and Reeft, pale and blonde and so thin he appeared emaciated, despite the fact that he ate more than any other person Obi-Wan knew - both of them were closer to him than any biological family members could ever have been. It had been many years before when they had first come to terms with their own mortality - when they had lost Bant, sister of their hearts - and learned that some empty places within them would remain forever empty. The trace of unease he glimpsed now in his friends' countenance was eloquent proof of the fact that none of them were ready to find any new empty places in their lives. 

"Where's Ciara?" he asked finally, not trusting himself to speak of anything beyond the mundane. 

"Guess she hasn't got through to you yet," answered Garen, "though I know she's been trying. She's on Perlian 3, at the linguistics academy." 

Obi-Wan grinned. "So somebody finally figured out that she had more than a passing interest in languages, huh?" 

Reeft looked delighted. "She's blowing everybody away, including the faculty. They say they've never known anybody with an ear like hers." 

Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh. He was happy for his old friend; it was what she had wanted for many years. But he missed her, and she would probably be gone for a very long time. 

"Kenobi," said a deep, rich voice, almost in his ear. 

Obi-Wan turned and was forced to look up to meet the eyes of Master Ramal Dyprio - Master of Padawan Ciara Barosse, Master swordsman, and one-time bitter enemy of Qui-Gon Jinn. But immediately Obi-Wan was forced to rethink that appellation; Qui-Gon and Ramal had not really been enemies - not exactly. They had simply managed to disagree on almost every possible subject, and they had usually managed to do it very loudly. 

"Master Dyprio," Obi-Wan replied coolly. Polite - but no more than that. 

And Dyprio actually grinned. "By the gods, he really made you over in his own image, didn't he?" 

Blue-green eyes flashed suddenly glacial azure, but Dyprio just continued to grin. The big Corellian Master leaned forward and said softly, "My Padawan sends her love to you, Young one, and her condolences on your loss. And I? You may not believe it, but I will miss your Master more than most. Ours was not an easy relationship, but it was very honest. And I have come to value honesty above most all things, as years have gone by." 

Obi-Wan regarded the swarthy Master for a few moments, gauging the sincerity of his words. Finally, he nodded, and murmured his thanks. 

"Obi-Wan," said Garen, taking his friend's arm, "you need to sit down, before you fall down. And there's someone waiting to meet you." 

When the young Jedi sank into the arm chair that had belonged to his Master, he managed not to allow a sigh of relief, but it was close. His legs, by this time, were trembling with fatigue, and his headache was rolling like thunder behind his eyes. He allowed his eyelids to drop - for just a moment - and felt a small, warm body crawl into the chair with him. He looked down to find Anakin snugged up against his side. The young Master didn't feel up to talking, but he wrapped a gentle arm around his Padawan, and settled himself more comfortably beside him. 

Suddenly, the soft murmur of conversation inside the apartment fell completely silent, and Obi-Wan heard a faint echo of a chime that somehow riveted his attention. 

He looked up to see a vision of loveliness coming toward him. 

"Obi-Wan," said Garen, with a slight nuance of pride in his tone, "This is Kammian." 

Kammian Tyra, newly apprenticed to Master Rionne Aprelle, was a human/cirsean hybrid and had somehow combined the most perfect characteristics of each of the two species to form one exquisitely beautiful being. She was slender and graceful, with delicate features and vibrant coloring. Her hair was almost transparent, it was so pale, and fell like molten pearls, down her back to a point below the swell of her hips. Translucent skin, with an opalescent luster, blushed dawn pink across her cheeks, and framed eyes of deepest amber, shot with glints of gold. Lips tinted like crushed berries parted to reveal perfectly white teeth and just the tip of a rose-pink tongue, suggesting just a nuance of the wanton she might yet grow up to be. For, though well-endowed with assets enviable by many young women twice her age, this was still a child - fourteen, perhaps; fifteen, at the most. 

Reeft leaned over Obi-Wan's shoulder, and, under cover of reaching for a sandwich, murmured, "Just keep repeating, 'She's a kid. She's a kid.' In time - like a year or so - you'll get the hang of it." 

"Shhh!" said Garen, glaring at his friend. Then he nodded to the girl, who raised a small instrument in front of her; it consisted of a rectangular framework, filigreed with polished metal, and holding an assortment of different sizes and shapes of bells. 

Kammian first approached Obi-Wan and knelt at his feet. When she stared up at him, the look in her eyes, he observed, could have melted lead, and when she reached out and took his hand, her touch was almost electrifying. She brushed his hand against a row of the bells, and a lovely, sylvan chord emerged from the instrument. Before rising to continue around the room, from person to person, she favored him with a smile that made him extremely uncomfortable, though he was forced by his own innate honesty to admit that his discomfort had more to do with his own thoughts than with her intentions. He thought. 

He looked up when the girl had moved away and groaned to find the irrepressible (and totally undeflectable) Healer Mirilent standing over him. She sat on the arm of his chair and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "Whatever you do, don't stand up!" 

He cleared his throat. "Is she - are all Cirseans . . ." 

She chuckled. "My, how articulate you've become in your advancing years, Obi-Nobi." 

At that moment, if looks could, indeed, have killed, Mirilent would have been reduced to smoldering ash. But she finally decided to take pity on him. "Yes, Love. Most Cirseans are exactly like that. They are an exquisitely beautiful race, and sex is their absolute favorite sport. Which is why you _will_ stay away from her. At least for now." 

"She's just a kid," he murmured. 

Mirilent looked over to where the girl was standing in front of Mace Windu with her framework of bells. "I don't think I've ever seen Mace sweat quite like that," she observed, and then, with a sweeping look around the room, she grinned broadly. "Looks like a heat wave in here." 

"She's just a kid," Obi-Wan repeated, and caught a glimpse of his Padawan's face. Even Anakin apparently knew better. 

"Well," said Mirilent, "if she is, maybe somebody ought to tell her. Because I think she thinks she's all grown up and ready to run with the big boys." 

The girl had completed her circuit of the room and came back to kneel before Obi-Wan again. The smile was still in evidence, but, this time, she stilled the bells with her free hand, and then spoke, in a voice not terribly dissimilar from the now silent chimes. "Your home has been purified by the chimes of Loth'Ria, and only goodness dwells within. May your paths be level; may your rains be gentle; may your dreams be kind. May you walk forever in sunlight, and may darkness flee before you." 

She inclined her head and waited. 

Obi-Wan wasn't sure if what he was supposed to say was scripted somewhere, but he knew he had to say something. "Thank you, Kammian. That was lovely." 

She leaned forward, took his hand and turned it palm upward, and pressed soft, bee-stung lips to the inside of his wrist. "This is the Cirsean greeting for heroes. You are a hero of your people, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You honor us with your thanks." 

Garen at that moment stepped forward and reached down to lift the girl to her feet, but she spun away from his touch, something disquieting moving in the depths of her golden eyes. 

Then, she was up and gone before Obi-Wan could say another word. 

"Obi-Wan," said Mirilent drily. 

"Um hmm?" 

"Close your mouth." 

Anakin was watching his Master with a look of flagrant disgust. "Geez, Obi-Wan, she's just a girl!" 

And Obi-Wan reached out and ruffled his padawan's hair. "In a few years, I'm going to remind you of that remark, and then we'll just see who has the last laugh." 

*****************

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 -- Bells, Boots, and Candles (Part II)

It had been almost two weeks since he had been released from the Healers' Wing, and Obi-Wan was almost fully recovered now from his injuries - or, at least, from his physical injuries. He was still maintaining his silence concerning the nightmares that continued to plague him, and both Mirilent and Varqa Soljan were growing more and more concerned about his emotional state, but neither could argue with his physical progress. The only lingering effect appeared to be that he tired a little more quickly than usual, and that, thought Mirilent, could be as much a result of lost sleep as of any continuing physical problem.

Finally, in desperation, she had done the only thing left for her to do; she had gone to the Council.

Consequently, Obi-Wan had an appointment late this afternoon with Varqa Soljan - mind healer.

He was far from happy with the prospect.

But he _was_ happy, for the moment, to be out and about in the Temple, in the company of his ebullient Padawan, and on his way to meet two of his best and oldest friends, and to come face to face - finally - with Garen's "angel".

Rionne Aprelle's sojourn on the sanctuary moon had taken longer than anyone could have expected - mainly because she had been so involved in the exploration of the archaeological site that she couldn't seem to tear herself away. But, finally, her duties to the Temple - and to her newly-bonded Padawan - could be put off no longer, and she had returned to Coruscant.

Since she was a relatively new resident of the Temple, having previously been based in a training academy on Alderaan, her studio was not located within the cultural section of the great edifice, as there had been no available space for her there. Instead, her classes and her ongoing studies would take place, for the moment, in a spare studio in an area above the main hangar; though the ambiance of the area was hardly the elegant atmosphere to which she was undoubtedly accustomed, the studio was bright and well-equipped and soundproofed against the constant roar and bustle of the great landing bay.

Obi-Wan and Anakin were scheduled to join Garen and Reeft in the main hanger, prior to meeting Rionne. Obi-Wan admitted - to himself only, of course - that he was slightly apprehensive about this meeting. Garen had been raving about his "angel" almost without stopping for breath for the past two weeks, and Obi-Wan really, really wanted to like her, for Garen's sake. But he was uncomfortably aware that he was experiencing just the tiniest nuance of resentment towards her. If truth be told - and he was honest enough to admit this to himself - he didn't much care for sharing the spotlight - the spotlight which had, after all, been his, alone, for many, many years. Among the three of them, only one was the center star of their lifelong drama. The other two had long ago assumed the role of supporting cast.

The young knight allowed himself a small rueful smile. _Petulance is so becoming to a Jedi knight,_ he thought.

On entering the hangar, it was immediately obvious that Anakin had visited there previously - probably several times - as he was greeted by a number of technicians and mechanics at various stations around the vast enclosure. But a stern glance from his Master convinced the apprentice that the math exercises he was supposed to be completing must take priority over renewing his acquaintance with the various ships, skips, sloops, scoops, and speeders scattered around the bay.

There was as yet no sign of Garen, but Reeft was already there, seated on a long bench near the main entrance.

Brilliant golden sunlight streamed through the great hangar doors, as well as the bank of windows along the upper-level exterior walls, bathing the entire open expanse in swaths of liquid amber, and Obi-Wan felt his spirits lift dramatically as he sank to a seat beside Reeft.

"You look busy," the young Master observed with a smile.

"I'm meditating," Reeft replied, not bothering to open his eyes.

"You're sleeping," Obi-Wan retorted.

"Same difference."

Above the various mechanical clicks, hums, revs and drones so endemic to the hangar, there rose a faint counterpoint of lilting music, soft, faint, fleeting - there and gone - and there again. It was a strange juxtaposition, but not unpleasing.

To one side of the huge open space that housed so many sizes and types of vehicles, both atmospheric and space-faring, there was an enclosed area, reserved for work on smaller vehicles and machines, equipped with a variety of specialized tools and force field generators designed for the maintenance and repair of less massive transports. The alcove, referred to by all and sundry as the mech bay, was unusually crowded on this particular day, with little free space available for moving around within its confines.

In a far corner of the little bay, someone was working on a vintage speeder bike - a real antique, thought Obi-Wan as he caught a glimpse of bright sweeps of chrome and gleaming scarlet body work. The sounds coming from the bay were an odd combination of bangs, clangs, clatters and rattles, all to the accompaniment of snatches of hard-driven, heavy-beat electronic music, with strong drafts of bass and percussion. Obi-Wan's smile grew wider, as he relaxed and enjoyed the warmth of the morning.

For a while the old friends merely sat in companionable silence, without feeling any necessity for speech.

The delicate music, originating somewhere above the expanse of the bay, rose again, and Obi-Wan recognized the marvelous warmth and complexity of that exquisite voice which had been instrumental in recalling him to the land of the living, during his stay in the healers' ward.

"She must be rehearsing," he said softly, as the music faded to a murmur, then died completely.

"Does this all seem . . ." Reeft appeared to be at a loss for a means to express himself.

"Bizarre?" Obi-Wan offered, and grinned at the look of relief that settled on his friend's features.

"I was afraid I was just being weird, or something," Reeft replied, beaming.

"Reeft?"

"Yeah?"

"You _are_ weird. You've been weird since you were nine years old. It's part of your charm."

"Thanks a lot, Buddy. So you really don't find this whole thing with Garen and Rionne a little strange?"

Obi-Wan wore a lop-sided smile. "I think it had to happen sooner or later. One of us had to go first. He just happened to be the one."

"The one to what?" Reeft still didn't appear to comprehend.

"To get involved in a serious relationship with a woman."

But Reeft didn't seem to be particularly thrilled with the general direction of the conversation. "So you think this is serious?"

Obi-Wan paused to remember the look in Garen's eyes when he was talking about the Chal-Si Jedi. "I can't speak for her, but it's pretty obvious that he's head over heels. When he talks about her, he practically glows. How are they together?"

But Reeft only shrugged. "Beats me. You've seen as much of them - together - as I have. Maybe more. I've been out on system patrol for the last few months. Remember? I hardly know her."

"Well, she must be pretty special," Obi-Wan observed. "To take over a padawan for a deceased Master is tough. Especially when the bond was so deep. Kammian had been with Master Poro-Veita for almost five years. Most Jedi would have simply deferred to the Council."

"Umm," Reeft agreed-sort of. "Word was that the Council was less than enthusiastic about taking on a Cirsean. They're . . . "

" _That_ ," Obi-Wan said firmly, with a glance back at his padawan, "is just an old wives' tale. They're no more hormonally challenged, than any other adolescent."

"Obi-Wan?" said Reeft, very softly.

"Yeah?"

"When you were on the receiving end of that little Cirsean welcoming ceremony, do you think your blood pressure was anywhere near normal?"

Obi-Wan grinned. "No, but that only proves that _I'm_ hormonally challenged. Not her."

Reeft chuckled and resumed his introspective musing. "She's older, you know," he said shortly, apropos, as far as Obi-Wan could figure, of nothing.

"Who's older - than what?"

"Rionne. Is older than Garen."

"So? Haven't you heard that age is just a state of mind? Besides, she's Chal-Si. They age very slowly."

Once more, that crystalline voice seemed to swell in the air, and float upward into nothingness.

"Well," said Reeft finally, "whatever else she can or can't do, she sure can sing."

Obi-Wan thought that might just be the understatement of all time.

There was a sharp, cascading clatter within the confines of the mech bay, followed by a not-very-circumspect oath. "Son of a Sith, why they had to put the phregging thing under _there_ is beyond me!"

Obi-Wan glanced over to try to spot the disgruntled mechanic, and squinted his eyes to distinguish light from shadow within the narrow alcove. When he sorted out what he was seeing, he was suddenly still, and his breath caught in his throat. Poised atop the vintage speeder bike, one very slender, very curvacious, very fetching female posterior, snugly clad in soft leather, was draped across the bike's seat. Attached to the perfectly rounded bottom was a pair of long, well-shaped leather clad legs, ending in a pair of sueded, copper-colored knee-high boots, with charming leather laces criss-crossing up the back.

The upper portion of this leather-clad figure was completely invisible, as the torso was apparently bent double behind the body of the bike, probably in an attempt to access the interior of the motor housing. The toe of one boot was wedged firmly against the floor, while the other was extended high above the bike's frame in a graceful arabasque, apparently in an effort to balance the remainder of the body.

Judging by the steady stream of muttered oaths emerging from beneath the bike's chassis, the repairs were not going well.

Obi-Wan turned and caught Reeft's eye. "In the immortal words of my Padawan," he said softly, "wow!"

But Reeft had not yet spotted the object of Obi-Wan's interest. "Wow what?"

Obi-Wan turned back and nodded toward the mech bay. His voice was barely more than a whisper. "Check out the view at 3:00 o'clock. If that is not the most absolutely perfect, totally superior, entirely delectable female ass of all time, I'll eat my light saber."

Reeft looked - and then looked again. "Oh, gods," he said, louder than he probably meant to, "would you look at that . . ."

Obi-Wan cleared his throat loudly. "How's the math going, Padawan?"

If Obi-Wan had turned at that moment, and looked at his apprentice, he'd have been surprised to learn that Anakin was not nearly so naïve in matters of human sexuality as his Master believed. Living as a slave in a slime pit like Mos Espa had provided him with a great deal more knowledge than Obi-Wan would have deemed appropriate for his age. For the moment, the padawan simply ducked his head, thus concealing his knowing smile, just in case anyone was looking his way. In response to his Master's inquiry, the boy replied with a non-committal grunt.

Once again, music swelled from above them, and that extraordinarily pure voice flooded the vast chamber with soaring, crystalline notes. So sweet and piercing was the sound that the characteristic clatter of the hangar went silent for a moment, as technicians, mechanics, and passers-by paused to listen, their faces reflecting a momentary brush with realms beyond the mundane and the physical.

Obi-Wan looked once more toward the mech bay, to renew his perusal of the grace and provocation of that ever-so-lovely, leather-clad bottom. The only thing that had changed was that the bottom in question was now even more vertically-aligned as both boots were now planted firmly on the floor, as a slender gloved hand reached into a toolbin near the rear of the bike. The upper half of the body was still beyond the line of sight.

Obi-Wan shifted slightly in order to get a better view.

"Boots," he breathed, barely audible.

"Say what?" asked Reeft, equally rapt.

Obi-Wan winced, realizing that he'd been thinking aloud. "Nothing," he replied.

"Not nothing," Reeft argued. "You said 'boots'. What about boots?"

Reeft turned to look at Obi-Wan and was surprised to note that his friend's face was suddenly flushed. "What about boots?" he insisted.

"It's just . . ." Obi-Wan was seldom at a loss for words, and Reeft's interest escalated abruptly.

"Just what?"

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and said, almost too softly to hear, "There's just something about a woman - in boots."

Reeft stared. "You have a . . . thing? About boots?"

"I think that's what I just said, isn't it?" The words were practically bitten off.

"What kind of thing?"

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to grab Reeft by the throat and slam him up against the wall. "All right, all right," he snapped. "So I have a thing about women with long pretty legs in tall leather boots. It's just a quirk. You know. You, for instance, love food - all kinds; all varieties. I . . . I like women in boots."

"Wow!" said Reeft. "Who'd have guessed? You - and boots. I've known you for twenty years, and I never knew. Boots. Wow!"

"Reeft?"

"Yeah?"

"If you mention this to anybody - and I mean _anybody_ , you're a dead man. Got it?"

"Hey!" Reeft managed to inject a note of wounded integrity into his tone, as he returned to his observation of the leather-clad vision in the mech bay. "You know me better than that."

"Yeah, right," said Obi-Wan, equally engrossed. "That's why we used to call you the Temple crier."

"Hey, you guys," called Garen as he strode into the hangar. With the unerring instinct of a young man with a healthy libido, his eyes were immediately drawn to the vision in leather which had so captivated his friends. He turned to regard Obi-Wan with a grin. "Enjoying the view?"

"We may be Jedi," laughed Obi-Wan, quoting an old Temple cliché, "but we ain't dead."

Garen lowered himself to a comfortable squat beside the bench and joined them in their contemplation. "Sorry I'm late," he offered. "I just left the Council, and Master Yoda was being particularly cryptic today. He's really on about something lately. Suddenly, he's gone psychotic."

"Suddenly?" echoed Obi-Wan, with a grin. "Where've _you_ been for the last five years?"

"OK, OK, so who can really tell the difference between normal Yoda . . . and psycho Yoda?" Garen turned a speculative gaze on his oldest friend. "Actually, he asked about you."

"Me?" said Obi-Wan. "What about me?"

"Just generic questions. How you are. How your rehab is going. And have I noticed anything different about you."

"Like what?"

"That's what I said. He declined to elaborate. So I just said that you were the same as always."

For a moment, Obi-Wan's eyes lost focus, and he stared off into nothingness. "You know," he said softly, "now that you mention it, I haven't seen the little troll in weeks."

Reeft chortled. "And you're complaining? Count your blessings."

"Right," Obi-Wan agreed, "but it's odd. He usually stops by to see me when I'm laid up, even if it's just to lecture me on what I did wrong to get myself into such a mess."

At that exact moment, there came a particularly loud, particularly jarring blast of hard-driving music from the mech bay, and Obi-Wan grinned at his friends. "Definitely a woman after my own heart," he remarked.

Garen was wearing an expression of pure delight, as music from the studio somewhere above the hangar rose once more to form a strange descant to the harsh modern/jizz dissonance emanating from the mech bay. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and concentrated on the piercing loveliness of the voice soaring above them.

He smiled and looked over at Garen. "She's really something special, Gar. What in the galaxy does she want with a tone-deaf, tin-eared, left-footed, scruffy-looking Jedi geek?"

"Said one geek to another," Garen laughed.

"Nah," said Reeft, surfacing abruptly from his reverie of boots and leather. "Can't call Obi a geek any more." He rolled his large gray eyes -- a rather unfortunate choice of expression for someone whose eyes already showed a remarkable tendency to bulge from their sockets. He then deliberately batted almost non-existent eyelashes and adopted an exaggerated verbal twang. "He's our hero!"

Obi-Wan and Garen erupted in guffaws, punctuated by giggles from Anakin.

Finally, Garen slapped Reeft on the back, almost sending the somewhat scrawny young Jedi to his knees, and then rose, pulling Obi-Wan up with him. "Come on. Let's go say hello."

"Should we disturb her?" asked Obi-Wan, noting that the golden coloratura was still soaring.

Immediately, there was a huge, metallic clatter in the mech bay, followed by a sharp, single-syllable epithet - one not ordinarily heard or used in the Jedi Temple.

Garen grinned. "I'd say the timing is perfect."

He turned then and walked into the alcove, moving to stand directly behind the delectably leather-snugged bottom that had so snared the attention of his friends.

Obi-Wan and Reeft exchanged confused glances, as Anakin watched with a smile. Apparently, Garen was acquainted with the object of their intense interest.

They walked to his side and looked at Garen as if he had taken leave of his senses as he called out, "It's never going to run."

"Bite-your-tongue," came the staccato response from the wearer of boots and leather.

"Can you come up for air for a second?"

But just at that exact moment, there was a cough and a sputter from the bike's motor, followed by a belch of oily smoke, and then the deep unmistakable growl of the powerful ion engine.

And the leather-clad bottom executed a perfect shoulder stand on the bike's seat - booted feet suddenly vertical - and let out a Correllian victory cry that would have shattered glass, had there been any nearby.

Obi-Wan felt a second-hand rush of exultation, although - given his own love of speed and power (which he shared with his Padawan) perhaps it wasn't really so second-hand after all. And Anakin was practically dancing with excitement.

"Wow!" yelled the apprentice, straining to be heard over the roar, "that's one of the original v-configuration power drives."

And the wearer of leather and boots leapt upright, and became a cascade of fiery hair, tumbling down over a slender frame, bracketing a face glinting pale gold in the subdued light of the alcove, and tapering down, of course, to those infamous leather pants and tall boots. She laughed at Garen and shouted gleefully. "How would you like your serving of crow, Sir? Grilled, baked, or sauteed with onions?"

He grinned and replied in like bellow. "OK. OK. You win. Can you take a minute to say hello?"

She turned toward Obi-Wan, with a smile that was just short of breathtaking. And promptly completed the journey to completely breathtaking by projecting a single thought. _The most absolutely perfect, totally superior, entirely delectable female ass of all time, huh? Exactly the way every woman wants to be immortalized in song and verse._ The thought was accompanied with a quick wink, and a sense of gentle irony that told him that she was _not_ really angry, no matter how the words might sound.

He groaned - internally - then looked into her eyes, and was suddenly up to his neck in the strangest sensation he had ever experienced, as he felt himself falling helplessly into pools of melted topaz.

"Sorry," she shouted, in perfect contradiction of the message she projected so easily (and so exclusively, if, as he believed, he was the only one hearing it.) "It's taken me a month to get this baby started, and I dare not let go - not even to shake the hand of the infamous Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan responded with a grin, then stepped around the rear of the bike and wedged himself into the narrow space between the chassis and the wall. A quick inspection of the engine's injectors told him what he needed to know, and he reached forward and made an adjustment on the fluid intermix controls.

"I think you can safely let go now," he yelled in her ear.

The look in her eyes - eyes like aged cognac shot through with sparks of flame - informed him that she'd rather trust him with her firstborn child than allow him to tamper with the bike.

He grinned, and yelled. "Take a chance. If I'm wrong, I work on it til I get it started again."

Slowly . . . very, very slowly, she loosened her death grip on the throttle. Despite a hiccup of two, the motor continued its basso rumble.

Her smile was brilliant, as she batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated manner (with a sharp, meaningful look at Reeft), clasped her hands on Obi-Wan's biceps, and crooned, "My hero!"

To cover his embarrassment - from a veritable multitude of choice reasons - he gestured at the bike. "What a beauty! I didn't think there were any of these still around."

Her smile grew wider, but she didn't say anything. Still he heard the thought, as clearly as if she'd spoken. _There's nothing like an original._

She studied him for a moment, and it was as if a wall had descended behind her eyes, for he could no longer hear her thoughts. And he realized immediately that it was more than a little strange that he should already miss something that had barely been initiated.

For her part, she heard entire cathedrals full of clanging bells pealing in her mind - bells spelling out a message that required absolutely no interpretation. _This_ was a dangerous man, and how and why he was dangerous didn't even bear considering.

She turned and grabbed Garen's arm. "Come on!" she urged, as she mounted the bike. "I've waited too long. I am _not_ going to miss this chance."

But Garen shook his head. "Rionne, I can't."

"Rionne!" gasped Obi-Wan. "This can't be Rionne."

"Say what?" yelled Garen, over the roar of the bike.

And Obi-Wan shouted back, "This can't be Rionne. I just heard her singing, upstairs."

But the woman he had begun to think of as Lady Boots was laughing at him again. "That's my padawan," she yelled. "She's a Cirsean, you know. You do know about Cirseans, don't you?"

The confusion in his face was a more than adequate answer.

Rionne leaned toward him. "They can mimic anything," she cried, "and anybody."

At this point, realizing the full extent of all the mistakes he had made within the past hour, Obi-Wan decided that he should just find a hole to crawl in, in the hope that he could avoid screwing up anything else for the remainder of the day.

But, embarrassed or not, he was still Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he would still do the right thing, no matter how painful.

So he leaned forward and shouted in Rionne Aprelle's ear. "I am most sincerely sorry for behaving like an ass. I hope you can find it in your heart to forget this miserable start - and give me another chance to behave like a gentleman."

She regarded him silently for a moment, something pensive and reserved in her eyes, before turning back to Garen without really offering any kind of response. "Are you coming?" she yelled.

But Garen was adamant. "Can't. I have to testify at a hearing in the Senate. Besides, you know I get motion sick on one of those things. Take Obi."

But Obi-Wan was backing away from the bike, one hand clamped firmly on Anakin's shoulder.

"My Padawan . . . " he began

"Is due in class," interrupted Garan, "and I'll see that he gets there. Go. I want you two to get acquainted. Besides, I know you better than you know yourself, Kenobi, and you're dying to get your hands on that bike."

But Rionne was grinning. "Hands? The only part of your anatomy that's going to touch this little beauty is not your hands. Got it?"

Those were the words her mouth spoke, but the ones in her mind were much more intriguing. _What's the problem, Alpha Male? Trust me - I don't bite, much._

Obi-Wan regarded the Chal-Si with a faint, speculative smile, as if he were debating a response, and Rionne was conscious of a small, insidious nuance of uncertainty; there was definitely more here than immediately met the eye, but she couldn't quite pin down where that feeling was coming from.

"Sure," he yelled finally. "Let me buy you lunch, to make up for acting like a son of a Sith."

In lieu of an answer, she revved the bike's motor and motioned for him to climb on behind her.

With a grin, Obi-Wan shucked his robe, and tossed it to his Padawan.

He then leaned over the bike, and reached once more to the interior control panel, and made several minute adjustments, pausing between each to listen to the pitch of the engine's roar. When satisfied with the result, he swung his leg over the extended seat and settled himself snugly against Rionne's back, acutely conscious of his contact with that portion of her anatomy that had previously commanded so much of his attention.

She turned and favored him with a brilliant (knowing) smile as she handed him a helmet.

As the bike rose above the confining walls of the mech bay and moved out into the hangar proper, it trembled with repressed power, and, to some degree, so did the two people on it.

On a balcony several meters above the bay floor, a small figure stood in the shadow of a doorway and watched the two Jedi as they prepared to depart. Kammian Tyra's face was completely without expression, but there was a strange stillness in her amber eyes that might have been unnerving to anyone who happened to see it, but no one did.

Across the bay, a group of creche children were preparing to depart for a field trip to a nearby botanical preserve, and Romey, Obi-Wan's friend from Ragoon 6 was helping the creche mother curb their enthusiasm to a controllable level. She waved to her friend and rescuer, but he failed to notice her.

"So what's your pleasure?" Rionne shouted, as they hovered above the hangar floor. "Shall we break it in easy?"

Again, what she said was at odds with what she was thinking, but the mental image was somewhat attenuated - unclear.

Obi-Wan leaned forward, reaching over her shoulder, and flipped the switch that enabled the ion drive.

She looked back at him with a grin. "Are you sure?"

He simply gave her a thumbs up, then wrapped his arms around her waist and clamped his knees against the bike's outriggers. _Go._

And they were gone in a prismatic burst of power before the echo of the thought died away.

"Wow!" said Anakin Skywalker, as the silence of the huge hangar resurged in the wake of their departure. "You think they'll be all right?"

"They'll be fine," said Garen with a rueful smile. "It's Coruscant that may never be the same."

*** *** *** *** *** ***

For almost two hours, Rionne and Obi-Wan slipped the bonds of gravity and rode the wind, sometimes observing the laws of the realm - and common physics - and sometimes, disregarding them completely. In the process, they broke a few dozen airspeed records (unofficially, of course), insinuated themselves into a few locations that had never hosted a speeder bike before (and never would again), and put the sleek vehicle through maneuvers and contortions it had almost certainly never been designed for. But what it may have lacked in built-in capabilities, they compensated for with Jedi manipulation.

At the end of the two hours, they were breathless, sun-burned, hungry, and both completely relaxed. Conventional conversation had been virtually impossible throughout their journey, but communication had been quickly achieved and increasingly filled with satiric quips and easy laughter.

 _Lunch?_ She twisted to catch a glimpse of his face, and found herself, once more, almost impaled by that sunlit sapphire gaze. When he nodded, smiling down at her, she adjusted her posture to lean just a bit more against the arms that braced her.

When she felt him shift away from her, ever so slightly, she risked another look back, and found that he had lowered his eyelids, thus concealing those blue-green pools that she found so compelling.

She pushed the bike's controls forward and eased into a controlled descent. Below them was a large, interconnected series of rough structures, topped by a cupola-shaped enclosure. She dropped the bike to a rooftop landing pad, and disengaged the motor. The resulting silence was deafening.

He was off the bike before the roar of the motor completely faded, and moving away from it - and from her.

Rionne simply sat for a minute, watching him, noting that he moved with unconscious grace and with no stiffness, despite his recent injuries. Jedi garments, as everyone knew, were hardly designed to enhance the appearance of their wearers; rather, their purpose was to facilitate ease of movement. But, for some Jedi, at least, it amounted to the same thing, for by fostering ease of movement, a sensual natural grace resulted, that transcended the simplicity of the garments. Obi-Wan Kenobi had that kind of grace, just barely frosted with a tiny, irrepressible trace of arrogance.

It was an enormously sexy combination.

Her eyes dropped to the knee-high leather boots, and she suppressed a smile.

With a faint sigh, she turned away to remove her helmet and busied herself with stowing it on the bike, while Obi-Wan wandered to the edge of the landing pad and looked down at the series of structures that stretched off into the near distance, all inter-connected.

"What is this place?" he asked finally, slightly perplexed by the aura of timelessness that seemed to hang over the area.

"Qui-Gon never brought you here?" she asked, slightly surprised.

He turned and regarded her with increased interest. "You knew my Master?"

His voice was perfectly level, perfectly modulated. Nevertheless, she heard the catch that was almost there.

She nodded. "Not well. But well enough to know that I respected him tremendously. He was unique."

He chuckled. "Other people have expressed it less politely. Rogue. Maverick. Rebel."

She studied his profile as he continued to gaze out toward the horizon. "And do those words apply to you, as well?" she asked.

He turned to face her, but hesitated before responding. "I wouldn't have said so, until the last few days. I seem to have found a new perspective on things."

She smiled, satisfied with his response. "Come on. Qui-Gon was very fond of this place, and so am I. You were probably just too young to come here before."

A slight flare of alarm gleamed in his azure eyes. "Too young? What kind of place is this?"

She laughed, and the sound of it was melodic and infectious. "Relax, it's a winery. A very special kind of winery, actually. They absolutely adore the Jedi. They even have a Jedi reserve label that's to die for. Come on!"

She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the cupola, where a door had just opened, allowing a soft murmur of voices and gentle laughter to spill out into the golden afternoon.

Standing in the doorway was a dark-haired, dark-skinned woman who was roughly the size of a full grown wookiee, draped in a dark toga-like garment beneath a massive apron, and studying the new arrivals with a speculative manner. As Rionne and Obi-Wan approached, she broke into a broad, beaming smile. "Too long, Aprelle. Too long since you come to see us."

"Lady Mitra," replied Rionne. "You're looking wonderful."

The giantess swept Rionne into a hug, but continued to study Obi-Wan, eyes dark and secretive. When Rionne stepped back, the dark woman moved to stand directly in front of Obi-Wan, and regarded him in silence. After several moments, she reached out and cupped his face with a gentle hand, and her lips trembled as a light seemed to swell in her eyes. "By the Force, his description was perfect. 'A portrait painted in gold-dusted pastels, with eyes as changeable as the sea in sunlight."

Obi-Wan hadn't a clue what she meant, but he easily discerned that the look in her liquid eyes spoke of enormous affection and warmth, though why she should direct such feelings toward him, he hadn't a clue. She reached out finally and engulfed him in arms as large as young trees. "Obi-Wan Kenobi." It was almost a song the way she said it. "I'd have known you anywhere. I can't tell you how long we've waited for you, how carefully he planned your celebration."

He cleared his throat. "He?"

And she put her hands on either side of his face and pressed her lips to his forehead. "Your Master, Child. Your Master who loved you beyond life itself."

"You knew my Master?" For some reason, he was having a hard time speaking clearly.

"Very well. He intended to bring you here on the day of your knighting - to toast your future - and to tell you, perhaps, how much you meant to him."

Obi-Wan stood perfectly still for a moment, eyes closed, hardly breathing.

"Come, Child," said Lady Mitra. "He is gone, but today you are a knight. And we will toast your future in his stead. And tell tall stories of his life and times. And tell you things he said to us about you. Come."

And she led them into the interior of the cupola, her voice a stentorian roar as she shouted orders, made introductions, and exchanged bright, laughing remarks with members of the crowd inside, all without pausing for breath. Neither Obi-Wan nor Rionne noted the names of any of the individuals who greeted them so warmly, but the general atmosphere of camaraderie was so intense that names seemed to be superfluous.

Their hostess continued to issue orders as she escorted them to a table rubbed to an exquisite patina by the hands and elbows of countless generations, situated before an oval of etched glass. Mitra, now muttering obscurely under her breath, left them there, and they sat in deeply padded armchairs and basked in splinters of sunlight. A generous feast was brought out and placed before them, and an endless line of well-wishers stopped by to speak to the apprentice of Qui-Gon Jinn, who had apparently been a regular patron of this place.

Finally, Lady Mitra returned to their table, from whatever errand she had set herself, and called for silence in the room. She was carrying a tall cylinder in one arm, wrapped in a dark scrap of fabric.

Her smile was radiant. "Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan. Grown now to manhood, and a full Jedi knight, with a padawan of his own. Young Kenobi, we would have you know that your Master never doubted - not for a moment - that you would bring honor to the Jedi, or that you would become a great Jedi knight. This he always knew. What he did not know; what caught him completely by surprise, was how he came to feel about you. You were not, after all, his first Padawan.

"You were, however, his first child. His only child. The only one who ever claimed a place in his heart and refused to give it up."

Obi-Wan was busy studying his hands, as he seemed to be doing an awful lot lately. Rionne, impulsively, reached out and raised his chin, to reveal the brightness of pain-washed turquoise eyes.

Lady Mitra removed the fabric from the cylinder she carried, exposing a dark, corked bottle. The label was hand written, and a small silver tube was attached to it with a spiral cord. Wordlessly, the dark woman handed the bottle to Obi-Wan.

The label was simple. A parchment oval bore the words - hand-lettered -"Jedi Reserve - Jinn/Kenobi"

"Open the tube, Child," said Lady Mitra.

With trembling fingers, he removed the small silver plug, and discovered a scrap of paper, tightly rolled.

He opened it slowly, feeling as if his heart might burst in his chest.

It was Qui-Gon's handwriting.

"I never knew pride until I knew what you would become. My Obi-Wan, your light has overcome my darkness"

The silence within the circular chamber was absolute, as Obi-Wan sat staring at the scrap of paper.

Finally, he looked up, eyes mirror-bright, and regarded Rionne thoughtfully. "Did you know about this?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I only knew that Qui-Gon came here sometimes, and that it's a place Jedi knights and masters are very fond of. Nothing more."

Lady Mitra reached out and grabbed Obi-Wan's hand. "Come with me, young Jedi. I have something to show you."

As he and Rionne followed her through the restaurant toward a vestibule at the far end of the building, other patrons stood back to allow them to pass easily.

The vestibule was really no more than a small alcove, distinguished mostly by a tall skylight that seemed to simultaneously gather natural illumination while filtering out the harshest qualities of direct sunlight.

The wall at the rear of the alcove was lined with artwork of every size and description, and every possible medium. Some of it was amateurish and excessively sentimental; some, downright maudlin; but some of it was surprisingly good. And the canvas which was the centerpiece of the entire collection was, in fact, quite remarkable.

Obi-Wan approached the pastel painting slowly, eyes wide with wonder. He looked into the portrait, and was stunned by the image of his own face. Abruptly, he looked down at the bottom of the canvas for the artist's signature, knowing what he would find, before he actually found it. Q.Jinn.

In the painting, the young Jedi sat in a window alcove, his face in profile against waning daylight, padawan braid curled around his throat, one knee hitched up and clasped with both hands, a datapad discarded and forgotten at his feet. His expression spoke of thoughts far from the scenery beyond the window glass.

"He did this? How did he do this?"

"It's quite wonderful," said Rionne.

Obi-Wan's smile was rueful. "Yeah, except I never looked that good, not even on the best day I ever had."

She turned and exchanged glances with Lady Mitra, whose expression clearly said what neither one of them actually voiced - that no canvas recreation, no matter how accurate, would ever capture the near perfect beauty of the original. But both women seemed to agree, non-verbally, that his ego, notwithstanding his display of humility, was hardly in need of stroking.

"Seen through the eyes of love, I suppose," remarked Rionne, her smile negating whatever sting the words might have carried.

"I never knew he could do this," he murmured. "He used to sketch a little. And sometimes he'd make me sit still and pose for him, which I hated. But I never saw anything except those pencil sketches."

Lady Mitra's eyes moved between the portrait and its subject with a gentle smile. "He never thought he was very good at it. And, truthfully, when he attempted other portraits - of other subjects - they were never quite up to par." Her smile became a grin. "Apparently, you were his only source of inspiration."

Obi-Wan drew a deep, shaky breath, and closed his eyes, as Rionne and Mitra exchanged glances. "Come on, young one," said Mitra quickly. "It's time we opened that wine. After all, it's been waiting for you for almost four years."

"Four years?" he echoed, as he followed her back to their table.

"Almost. Your Master selected it and had it bottled and labeled. Of course, many knights have to wait a lot longer than four years, but Qui-Gon always knew that it wouldn't take you very long."

"So this is a tradition? A part of the knighting ceremony?" asked Obi-Wan as they reseated themselves.

"Oh, not for everybody," Lady Mitra replied with a slightly venal smile. "We're a little more exclusive than that."

A deep, masculine laugh erupted behind her, and Obi-Wan looked up to find Master Ramal Dyprio looking down at him. "She's just being polite. To be a member of this elite club, you have to be a little bit of a renegade."

"My Master was not . . ." Obi-Wan paused in mid-sentence, remembering how frequently Qui-Gon had defied the Council, and how completely unconcerned he had been with the Council's opinions and decisions. For a moment, the young knight struggled with his own perceptions. Then he grinned sheepishly. "Well, maybe he was. Just a little."

Ramal slapped him on the back - painfully. "Welcome to the Outcasts, Boy."

"The Outcasts?"

Lady Mitra glared at Dyprio. "That's what smart-asses like him call it. We simply refer to it as the Inner Circle. And, no matter what you call it, you will always be welcome here."

Obi-Wan's smile was tremulous. "But I haven't done anything to deserve to be a member of an elite club."

Lady Mitra leaned over and placed her finger under his chin, lifting his face until she could see his eyes. "Oh, but you have, Little One. Not once, but many, many times. And we've heard all the stories, which your Master loved to tell."

"I will not repeat all those stories here. It would take many days to tell them all. I will however repeat one of them. The one that may have made the greatest difference in the life of your Master, Obi-Wan. The one that he believed exposed your soul.

"Do you remember the plague on Treviar 4, young Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, and closed his eyes against that memory. But closing his eyes didn't help, for the terrible scenes from that planet's living horror were etched on the inner surface of his eyelids. He had seen death many times, before and since that epidemic, but he had never been so overwhelmed with hopelessness. For the victims who succumbed to the plague were almost all children, below the age of six, and it was almost invariably fatal."

"Your Master told the story for us, and he painted a tragic picture. At the end of the epidemic, when the death toll had mounted unbelievably, and when it had been determined that the plague was spread by contact, the final victims were quarantined in a huge warehouse and left to die by the Treviarites. Since nothing could be done to save them, and since contact endangered others, it was decided that those tiny victims would simply be abandoned, and the facility burned to destroy the contagion. Do you remember that?"

Again, he closed his eyes and saw the interior of that vast building; saw row upon row upon row of tiny pallets, each holding one or two or sometimes three tiny bodies. And each of those bodies harboring a small, shining spirit, still living, still hoping for a miracle or, failing that, for a kind word, a gentle hand, a sense of caring.

"In the end, it was Obi-Wan Kenobi who defied the mob that sought to burn that building to the ground, extinguishing the lives that still dwelt within it. His Master had been delayed by mobs in the capital city, and it was up to Obi-Wan alone to contain the violence. And he did contain it. Not by threatening the frightened crowds with his light saber or with assurances of justice to be exacted by the Jedi. He contained it by laying down his weapon, and going into that house of death and ministering to those children. When they cried to be held, he held them. When they hungered, he fed them. And when they died, he calmed their fears and eased their passage. And when the last of them expired - a little girl of three who died in his arms with her hands on his face, he himself fell ill with the plague."

"Qui-Gon found him two days later - alone, dehydrated, febrile - almost dead. Even though the plague was not generally fatal to adults, it was a near thing."

Lady Mitra's eyes were glazed with unshed tears as she looked down at Obi-Wan, who would not meet her eyes. "You were fifteen years old. When your Master told me that story, he said that it was at that point when he finally realized what you meant to him. It was the most beautiful moment of his life and the most frightening. For he had also realized that he could not go on without you."

Her voice was achingly gentle. "By the Force, Child, how that man loved you!"

There was a pause, and then, the tone of her voice changed dramatically. "Then, of course, there are all those other stories."

The slightly wicked smile on her face made Obi-Wan fairly sure that he really didn't want to hear most of those stories.

"But the most important reason for you to be a lifetime member of this little club isn't one that your Master told us about. The most important reason he didn't have to tell us, because we could see it for ourselves. You saved his life, Obi-Wan. More than that. You _made_ his life."

Rionne caught Obi-Wan's eye and mouthed, "My hero."

With a splutter of laughter and a surge of gratitude that she could sense that the moment needed lightening, he made a quick obscene gesture, for her eyes only, knowing she would take it in the spirit in which it was intended. She did, and they laughed together.

"Now. Let's crack this bottle, shall we?" said Lady Mitra.

Obi-Wan looked up and met the eyes of Ramal Dyprio who had settled himself at the bar.

"Master Ramal," said the younger Jedi, "please join us."

Dyprio's raised eyebrows expressed nothing short of astonishment. "I don't think . . . "

"Yes," said Obi-Wan firmly, "he would."

With a shrug, the swarthy Jedi Master joined them at the table.

As Lady Mitra presented the uncorked bottle to him, Obi-Wan was assailed by the wine's heady fragrance. His voice was warm as he said softly, "He also valued honesty above all things."

Dyprio merely inclined his head, but there was a warmth in the depth of his sable eyes that Obi-Wan had never noticed before.

The young knight poured the sparkling pale amber wine into fluted goblets.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

After bottle number one was no more than a pleasant memory, it turned out that there was also a bottle number two, and then, wonder of wonders, a bottle number three.

Lunch was a distant memory by this point, and many patrons of the little restaurant had come and gone. But the core of the Jedi celebration was still present and still going strong.

Ramal Dyprio and Obi-Wan Kenobi were almost nose to nose by this time, as Rionne Aprelle watched them with a lazy grin.

"You were the worst," said Master Ramal, gesturing broadly with a half-empty glass and managing to empty even more of it with the gesture. "You corrupted my innocent li'l pad. . . padawan."

"Ciara," replied Obi-Wan, speaking very carefully, "is not corrupted."

"Yeah, well, no thanks to you. What about the famous snoring snafu?" That was what Ramal intended to say, although it came out more as "Wha' 'bou' th' fa'ous snor-n-snaf-oo."

Rionne perked up immediately. "What snoring snafu?"

Obi-Wan grinned. "That was the only time I ever ran from Qui-Gon, and, boy, did I ever run!"

Lady Mitra roared with laughter. "I never saw a man so totally pissed off in my life."

"What? What?" demanded Rionne. "You have to tell."

Obi-Wan made a concerted effort to sit up and speak clearly. He was only marginally successful.

"My Master," he began, "denied that he snored. No matter how many people told him different, he always said I was just making it up. That he didn't snore, had never snored, and never would snore."

"And did he?" asked Rionne.

Obi-Wan and Ramal exchanged grins. "Like a buzz saw," they replied in unison.

"Anyhow," continued Obi, "one night Garen, Reeft, Ciara, and I had gotten permission to camp in the Temple gardens, and the night before I had been up all night listening to him snore. He had a cold, so it was worse than usual. So Ciara and I decided that the only way to convince him that he really did snore - and needed to see a healer about it - was to tape him snoring."

"Uh oh," said Rionne.

"Um hmm," said Obi-Wan. "So we rigged up this microphone, fed it into a tape machine, and then - and I swear I don't know why we did this - we fed it into the Temple paging system."

"You didn't?"

"Oh, yeah, we did. So that night we're lying around in the gardens, when we hear these weird sounds start to come from the speakers. Not snoring sounds, mind you - but something else. Like groans, and heavy breathing."

"Oh, no." Rionne was practically hysterical by this time.

Obi-Wan was blushing bright red. "See, it never occurred to us that my Master might take advantage of my absence, by inviting a guest for the night."

"When I realized what we were hearing, I took off at a dead run, trying to get to the controls to shut it down. But the controls were in my room, and just as I got to the door, I heard this feminine voice say, 'Oh, my gods, Qui-Gon, I'm hearing myself in stereo.'"

"And then, I heard this bellow. 'Obi-Wan!'"

Ramal was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. "It was a sight to behold," he said. "I believe this is a direct quote. As the Master chased his padawan down the Temple halls, he was shouting, 'If I ever get my hands on you, you won't sit for a week.'"

Rionne struggled to catch her breath. "How did you survive?" she was finally able to ask.

Obi-Wan grinned. "I ran to Master Yoda. I couldn't think of what else to do."

"And he saved you?" she laughed.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes very wide, and did a very creditable imitation of the tiny green Jedi Master. "Kill your padawan, you may not, Qui-Gon. No matter how extreme the provocation."

The young Jedi looked up at the chronometer on the wall, and allowed himself a silly grin. "Oh, no," he said in mock distress, "I've missed my appointment at the healers."

"Ach!" exclaimed Rionne, "And I've missed two classes. We've got to go."

"Not like that," said Lady Mitra sternly. "You can't drive in that state."

Rionne opened her eyes wide and assumed an expression of innocence. "You've got to have some detoxin," she said.

"Um, hmm," replied Mitra. "Which I use very sparingly. And I don't usually have to use for Jedi."

"Come on, Lady Mitra," Rionne begged. "I can't leave the bike. It's a classic, one-of-a-kind. Please."

Lady Mitra eyed Obi-Wan uncertainly. "All right, Aprelle, but you're going to have to pour him into the seat, cause I'm only parting with one dose."

"Good enough," Rionne replied. "I'll just strap him to me."

Lady Mitra favored her with a slow smile. "Lucky girl."

"Hey, don't worry about me," said Obi-Wan, standing up quickly, only to crash to his knees. "Whoa, watch that first step. It's a doozy."

Ramal also rose and only barely avoided the same fate. "Come on, K'nobi," he laughed. "I'll get you out of here."

Between the two of them, they managed to stand up - sort of - as long as they leaned on each other, as Lady Mitra administered the de-toxicant to Rionne.

As they headed toward the door, Lady Mitra stopped them just long enough to kiss Obi-Wan's forehead and pinch his cheek. "Oh, Little One," she laughed, "your head is going to feel like a beach ball tomorrow. You come see me again, and I won't let you get so drunk, OK. But everybody needs to get a little drunk sometimes. Even your Master knew that."

He stopped, and, for just a moment, clarity came back to his eyes. "Loved my Master," he said, apropos of nothing - and everything.

"I know," she whispered. "Now let the Force take you home, Child."

He nodded, and went down like a felled tree.

"Whoa," said Ramal Dyprio. "Good night, sweet prince. I think he's down for the count."

Rionne knelt and studied Obi-Wan's face, and by virtue of great will power, did not allow herself to notice the sheer beauty of it. She looked up at Mitra. "This is so totally phregging unfair," she remarked, sobering up rapidly now.

Mitra smiled, knowing immediately what the Jedi meant. "Absolutely. He should at least act like a Hutt - or smell like a Hutt - or sound like a Hutt. Something."

Ramal looked at them both as if they had gone daft. "I suppose you'd like me to get the little smart-ass on the bike."

The women smiled, as the elder Jedi master stood and promptly joined Obi-Wan stretched out on the floor.

Rionne and Mitra looked from one to the other and back again, then looked at each other.

"Men!" they remarked together.

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

* * * *

Chapter 10: The Plot Thickens

 

Darth Sidious stood motionless on the balcony outside his office, concealed as much by his dark aura as by the pools of shadow created by the overhanging weather shield. His cloak billowed in a breath of icy wind as he turned to face the deeper blackness at the rear of the terrace.

”I am pleased with your report, young novice,” he said with a cold smile. “All goes as planned.”

”Yes, my Master.” The voice was no more than a hoarse whisper.

The Sith Lord turned back to gaze out into Coruscant’s parody of night. “But I think perhaps we should raise the stakes a bit. The broader we make the circle, the greater the degree of vulnerability.”

”The mind healers are insisting on seeing him,” said the novice, eyes never rising from contemplation of the Master’s feet, in deference to the Sith’s exalted station.

Sidious continued to smile. “Let them. I doubt he will tell them anything. And, if he does, they will simply dismiss his disclosures as nightmares.”

”And if the Council members insist on interrogating him?”

The dark Lord spun to confront the novice. “Why should they? Has he gone to them for counsel?”

The novice actually snickered. “Not likely. But there are rumors and whispers. It is said that the little troll is acting strangely and is asking questions about Kenobi.”

Sidious suppressed a shudder, as cold fingers seemed to grasp his spine, and he allowed himself the briefest taste of white-hot anger, which was barely an appetizer to the feast of his overwhelming hatred for the Jedi in general, and for Jedi Master Yoda, in particular.

”His time is done,” hissed the Sith. “He will be powerless to stop it.”

”Yes, Master.”

Sidious paused and looked carefully into the face of his initiate. Something within that calm countenance was more shielded than it should have been. “And you, my young Novice,” he said silkily. “How is your relationship with our young Jedi?”

”As expected, Master.”

”As expected?” Sidious mused. “But perhaps you and I had different expectations. Is that possible?”

”I’m not certain what you mean, my Master.”

Sidious’ voice was suddenly glacial. “Perhaps I expected him to charm you, to prove to be irresistible to you? Would I have been correct?”

”No, my Master.”

”Take care, young novice,” said the dark lord with deceptive calm. “I will ask you again. Have you not found him irresistible?”

There was a breathless pause, and Sidious allowed himself a small, knowing smile.

”He is - exquisite,” said the novice finally.

”Yes,” agreed Sidious. “Most exquisite. But you would do well to remember one thing, young one.”

”What is that, my Master?”

The Sith reached out and lifted the novice’s face, forcing eye contact. “You-will-not-touch-him. Is that clear?”

”As you wish, my Master,” came the response, slightly shaken and threaded with a tiny vein of disappointment.

Sidious heard it, and was gratified. “He is not for the likes of you. His ‘fall from grace’, if you will, must occur in the hands of his Master. His ultimate Master. The one who will claim his soul and his body - for all time.”

”I wish only to serve you, Master.”

Sidious nodded. “Your preparations are complete for the next phase of our little plan?”

”They are being completed even as we speak, Master.”

”And has the queen arrived yet?”

”Within the hour, my Lord.”

”Excellent. Excellent. More ammunition for my assault. I believe we will soon achieve our objective, young one. Shortly, I will reinforce your augmented shielding, and you will return to your duties. You must be especially diligent now, as we are approaching a critical point. And remember that you are not alone. When the timing is right, you will be made aware of the identity of those who will assist you, and you will need to move quickly.”

”I understand, Master.”

Sidious exhaled softly, gazing at the sleek fall of hair that reflected some small chance ray of passing light.

”You may service me, before returning to your post.”

The novice moved forward, but was careful to remain in full shadow. It would not do for someone easily identified as an associate of the Temple to be seen providing sexual favors for the dark Lord of the Sith. Not, of course, that anybody would have been able to identify him anyway. Still, prudence was, as always, the order of the day.

Sidious stood rigid, gazing down at the novice’s ministrations, and closed his eyes to mere slits. If he allowed his imagination to overrule his vision, he could almost believe that the head bowed before him was capped with soft spikes of ginger hair, on a body well-muscled and broad-shouldered and clad in Jedi beige.

The Sith smiled, and allowed his fantasy to supplant reality.

And the obsession grew. A disinterested observor - had there been one - might have been struck with the notion that what had begun as a strategic quest to replace a fallen apprentice had evolved into something much more than that . . . something ultimately more personal and infinitely more dangerous, for all concerned.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Obi-Wan Kenobi was buried somewhere, under a mountain of blankets, in Qui-Gon Jinn’s oversized bed.

He was not sleeping; indeed, had not been asleep for some time. But he wasn’t entirely sure if he was alive either, and he had figured out, somehow, that if he maintained exactly the same position he was in, without moving a muscle, that his head just might not fall completely off his shoulders. Nor would the daggers, now buried in his temples, twist themselves any deeper into his brain.

”Obi-Wan?” The voice from the open doorway of his bedroom was hardly more than a whisper, but it impaled him like a hurled lance.

”Mfrglgfmph!” he mumbled, not moving so much as an eyelash.

”Can I get you some breakfast?” There was just the barest hint of panic in Anakin’s tone.

It took a full minute for the young knight to fight off a wave of nausea engendered by visions of greasy breakfast food. “Nunghmph.” He was simply not capable of articulation, at the moment.

”Obi-Wan, are you all right?” The hint of panic was becoming a definite twinge of alarm.

Obi-Wan forced himself to concentrate. He didn’t bother reaching for the Force, because he was pretty sure that, right at this moment, the Force wouldn’t want to get within ten meters of him. “’S okay, Ani,” he finally managed.

”Are you sick?” The boy was edging closer, eyes huge and shadowed.

”Jus’ tired,” Obi-Wan replied, still buried in bedding.

At that moment, the door chime sounded, and it took every ounce of the young Master’s will power to avoid hurling waves of Force energy - not to mention rocks, plates and cutlery - at the unknown and unsuspecting visitor. Couldn’t people just leave him alone, to die in peace?

Anakin ran to admit the new arrival, as Obi-Wan jammed another pillow over his head.

There was a sudden flurry of activity in the room, and someone had the unmitigated gall to sit on the edge of his bed, sending new paroxysms of pain shooting through his head.

”Come on, Buddy,” said Garen’s voice, registering somewhere, Obi-Wan was sure, on a Richter scale. “I’ve got your cure, right here.”

”Mgfrgmph sprgflmgr!” Obi-Wan’s response was issued through clenched teeth.

”Say what?”

”Mgfrgmph glrbflg phreg off!”

Garen grinned. “Well, I think I got the important part of that.”

He leaned over and peeled back three layers of blankets, to uncover part of a bare torso-and a head still buried in pillows. “Come on out of there. I really do have a cure for you.’

Obi-Wan, noting that light was sneaking in under his eyelids from some unidentified source, merely moaned. “Just let me die,” he finally managed.

Garen laughed and grabbed the pillows obscuring Obi-Wan’s face.

The young Master groaned. “Garen, if you don’t leave me alone, I will surely cut you in half with my light saber.”

”Come on. Sit up, and drink this.”

Obi-Wan opened one - and only one - eye, and stared at the contents of the glass Garen was extending to him. Whatever it was, it was red - and thick - and swirled with something dark.

He closed the one eye, and recovered himself with his pile of pillows. “Dying is better,” he muttered.

”Hey!” said a new voice from the doorway, a very loud voice. “What’s up with him?”

”Mornin’, Reeft,” said Garen. “Our little friend here is recovering.”

”From what?” Reeft hoisted himself onto Obi-Wan’s bed, with a decided bounce, and the original inhabitant of the bed had sudden visions of severed heads, impaled on bloody pikes.

”From a major-league binge, according to my sources.”

”Mghmphglrfl your source’s fault.” The voice from under the pillows was now at least partially articulate.

”Oh, for the love of the gods,” said another new voice, this one feminine and quite lovely, but still a bit on the shrill side for someone suffering from the hangover from hell. “Garen, toss that stuff out before it smells up the whole Temple. I’ve got exactly what he needs.”

Obi-Wan opened one eye, mostly to be sure that he was still covered up in all the strategic places, and took a quick peek at the glass Rionne was holding.

”Rionne,” said Garen, obviously appalled, “that’s a raw egg.”

”Absolutely,” she agreed, “and when I beat it up and toss in a few squirts of requila sauce, he’ll drink it down and the hangover will be gone.”

”Right,” said Reeft, “Cause he’ll be dead!”

”All right, where is he?” Another new voice - also feminine, but not nearly so lilting. This time, Obi-Wan didn’t even bother to stifle the groan.

”Aha!” said Mirilent gleefully. “I’d know that whine anywhere. Obi-Wan Kenobi, come out of that nest, right now.”

”Ngunphrplwrgh phrmgl!” And he didn’t care in the least whether he was articulate or not.

Mirilent laughed. “Easy for you to say. Come on, Toots. Cause, believe it or not, I’m the lady with the candy. I really do have the cure for what ails you.”

”Is he OK?” Another new voice - masculine, deep, powerful. Mace Windu, and Obi-Wan asked himself if this day could possibly get any worse.

”Is there anybody in the Temple,” he mumbled, still buried, “who doesn’t know I got drunk yesterday?”

”I believe there might be a couple of clerks in the library still uninformed,” replied Master Windu, with a grin.

Obi-Wan groaned again, then clutched at his blankets as he felt a sudden draft in his nether regions. He pulled the blankets up over his head, looked down and came face-to-face with Mirilent Soljan, who flashed him a brilliant smile. “Mira,” he sputtered, “in case you haven’t noticed, I’m naked under here.”

She was calmly adjusting a syringe. “So? It’s not like you’ve got any equipment I haven’t seen before. Now. Give me an arm - or a cheek. I’m not particular.”

”What is that?” He was definitely suspicious.

”I told you,” she replied. “I’m the one with the candy - the real candy. A smidgen of this - ten minutes - and you’ll be a new man. Turn over.”

”Hey, you said I could take it in the arm.”

”Well, I’ve changed my mind. It’s too long since I had a chance to pinch that cute little ass. Now roll over,or I’ll just strip off these blankets, and have Mace flip you like a pancake.”

He managed to raise his head enough to glare into her eyes. “You’re an evil woman,” he snarled.

And she dropped a kiss on the tip of his nose as he started to roll onto his stomach.

”Are we interrupting something?” Another new voice, feminine, familiar, oh, for crying out loud. Yes, indeed, he knew that voice too.

As he carefully pulled one corner of one blanket down to expose one eye, Mirilent made good on her threat and pinched him - hard. He managed, somehow, not to yelp.

”Your Highness,” he murmured, acutely conscious that - protocol be damned - there was no way he was going to rise in the presence of the queen of Naboo.

”Are you all right, Jedi Kenobi?” asked Amidala, dark eyes sweeping around the crowd of faces and coming to a stop - and how did he know she would stop there, probably before she did - on the face and form of Rionne Aprelle, who was slouched in Qui-Gon’s old desk chair, one elegant, boot-clad leg slung over the arm rest.

”I am well, your Highness,” he managed to reply, tucking his blankets tighter around him.

And just to complete the moment, beyond Amidala stood the slender figure of Sabé, luminous eyes barely visible beneath the deep hood of her scarlet cloak, gaze sweeping around the room to take in the young Jedi Master and his rather obvious state of undress, and then, on to the vision of loveliness presented by the Chal-Si Jedi.

Obi-Wan’s eyes locked with those of Mirilent Soljan. And although their reactions were completely different - hers, one of wry amusement, his, of decided alarm - they exchanged the same remark. _Uh oh!_

With her trademark grin, she leaned over him, pretending to check his eyes, and whispered, “You know, Obi, you might want to learn to do something - even just one small thing - by halves. I mean, here you have Alpha female, to Alpha female, to Alpha female. Talk about an embarrassment of riches.”

”Hey, Kenobi, you in here?” Ramal Dyprio inserted the upper half of his body into the room, searching for the face of the apartment’s legal occupant.

”No,” replied Obi-Wan, deciding that, since subtlety didn’t seem to be working, he’d progress to outright lying.

But Dyprio just laughed. “My invitation to this little party must have gotten lost in the mail.”

”Mine, too,” Obi-Wan muttered dejectedly.

”Are you up for some low-grav ice hockey?” asked the Correllian Jedi.

”Yes,” cried both Garen and Reeft, both surging to their feet, both managing to set Obi-Wan’s bed bouncing - again.

Mirilent saw the gleam leap in those sea-green eyes and spoke up, before he could. “He is not,” she replied firmly. “Have you all lost your minds?”

Finally, Obi-Wan just groaned. “Can I go see the mind healer now?”

Mirilent laughed. “Wow! They’ve really got you spooked, don’t they?” She straightened and gently smoothed his hair. “How’s the head?”

He managed to sit up and brace himself against the headboard. “Well, at least it doesn’t seem to be falling off any more.”

She nodded, then stopped and sniffed the air. “What’s that?”

And “that”, as it turned out, was the one, true, overwhelmingly welcome remedy for what ailed him. For coming into the room was his tow-headed padawan, bearing a tray on which sat a small, spouted pot, and a china mug. Obi-Wan inhaled deeply.

As Anakin came to stand by the bedside, the young Master managed a weak grin. “Ani,” he said, “if that is what I think it is, I don’t know where you got it, or how you got it and I don’t care. I just want to say that you are my very favorite Padawan of all time - the best, the brightest, the smartest---“

”Obi-Wan?”

”Yes.”

”I’m your only Padawan.”

”Immaterial - if that’s jaffa.”

The apprentice grinned, and presented the brimming cup to his Master with a small flourish. Obi-Wan accepted the offering and practically buried his face in the cup, ignoring the roomful of visitors, and the undercurrents that raced back and forth across the bedroom like laser beams.

”Obi-Wan,” said Mace Windu, “we have a mission for you.”

”Oh, no, you don’t,” said Mirilent. “Not before I release him, and he doesn’t get released until he talks to Varqa.”

”But he’s been specifically requested for this mission, and there’s no time to spare.”

Mirilent was adamant and completely unintimidated by Mace’s frown.

”Then you better get him to the healers’ wing right now. Because, otherwise, he's not going anywhere.”

Amidala was staring at Obi-Wan, ignoring the turmoil around him. “I guess this means you don’t have time to spare for us.”

He shrugged. “Since nobody has bothered to tell me anything, I actually have no idea. But it’s good to see you, your Highness.”

Amidala smiled archly, letting her eyes wander down over his bare chest. “And I’m glad to see you, Jedi Kenobi.”

”I guess,” sighed Anakin, audible only to Obi-Wan’s ears, “that means I won’t be seeing much of you any time soon either.”

The young Master looped his arm around his Padawan’s shoulders and leaned over to whisper directly in his ear. “Not to worry, Ani. No matter what the rest of them think, you're at the top of my list.”

The boy’s adoring gaze was almost painful to behold.

The clamor within the bedroom grew louder with each passing moment, as various parties squared off at each other, or attempted to outshout those who had. Finally, with a weary glance at his Padawan, Obi-Wan stuck two fingers in his mouth and emitted a loud, piercing whistle, which impacted his brain like a saber. But it served its purpose; for a heartbeat, there was total silence.

”I am very grateful that you all care enough about me to check on me like this,” said the young knight, into that silence. “And I would very much like to speak with each of you personally. But, if you don’t mind, could I please have just a moment or two - to put my pants on?”

There was a faint titter of laughter, but, after a breathless pause, everyone filed out of the bedroom, leaving the young knight and his Padawan in privacy.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “Quick, Ani. Before the rest of the Temple and half of the Senate show up, give me my trousers.”

*** *** *** *** ***

By the time Obi-Wan emerged from his bedroom, showered, trousered, shirted, socked, and booted, his day had been planned and organized with exquisite attention to detail.

”You,” said Rionne Aprelle with a charming grin, “need a social secretary. Here’s your schedule for the day.”

Obi-Wan raised a finger to protest. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

”No,” replied a multitude of voices.

But Obi-Wan ran his eyes down the listing anyway, and pointed finally to a notation late in the afternoon. “What’s this?”

Mace Windu leaned forward. “Master Yoda wants to see you, alone.”

Obi-Wan frowned as he continued his perusal, and realized that virtually every hour was filled. He had hoped for a little time to spend with his Padawan, without distraction.

Finally, he knelt down beside Anakin, and spoke very softly. “You have a few classes to attend today, Ani, and I have some meetings that you can’t attend. But, for the most part, you can go with me, wherever I have to go, and tonight, after dinner, you and I are going to work out together. OK?”

”Are you sure?” Anakin looked as if he wanted to believe what his Master was telling him, but didn’t want to place too heavy a burden on Obi-Wan’s reserves of strength.

Obi-Wan’s grin was quicksilver magic. “Kenobi’s First Law: Your Master is always right. OK?”

Anakin screwed his face up into a contorted grin. “Why do I get the feeling there are going to be lots more of these laws?”

”Because you’re a bright kid,” said Garen, kneeling beside his friend, “and everybody knows this guy just loves the sound of his own voice.”

Obi-Wan stifled a groan. “Is everybody determined to interfere with my Padawan’s training?”

”He’ll survive,” said Rionne, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair.

”Obi-Wan,” said a soft feminine voice behind him.

The young Master stood and turned to face the queen of Naboo. And was struck afresh with how regal and impressive she was, even if she did only come up to his collarbone. “I’m sorry about all this, your Highness,” he said quickly. “If I’d known you were coming . . . “

”Nonsense,” she replied with a smile. “You couldn’t have known, when I didn’t even know until yesterday. The Chancellor decided to convene this summit conference at the last moment. I trust we'll be seeing you there?”

He nodded. “According to my ‘itinerary’,” he flashed a grin at his self-appointed personal secretary, “that’s the mission I’ve been assigned. As soon as I can convince the Healers to let me out of their clutches.”

”I heard that,” said Mirilent Soljan, completely unconcerned. “And there are worse places you could be, young one, than in my ‘clutches’. I intend to be certain that you’re ready to deal with those places, before I turn you loose to actually go there.”

Rionne Aprelle stepped forward and casually inserted herself into the circle around Obi-Wan, one hand grasping Garen’s bicep, and the other coming to rest on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Obi-Wan immediately felt a chill rise around him, but couldn’t quite determine its source. Of course, he wasn’t looking directly at Amidala - or at Rionne - or at Sabé. If he had been, or if he had bothered to glance at Mirilent and read the amusement in her face, he might have figured it out. As it was, he just cleared his throat uncomfortably.

”Have you all met?” he asked lamely.

”Oh, yes,” said Amidala. “Jedi Aprelle was kind enough to perform the introductions.”

”Yes,” said Sabé, speaking for the first time, and fixing him with a look that could have melted duranium. “Most kind.”

”Well, we seem to have arrived at an awkward moment,” said Amidala, deliberately ignoring the interpretive quality of the remark. “I’m sure everything will be better tonight.”

”Tonight?” he echoed.

”Tonight,” she repeated. “At dinner. At Chancellor Palpatine’s estate. Hasn’t anyone told you?”

”Told me what?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.

”It’s nothing,” said Mace Windu, appearing at Obi-Wan’s side. “Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

”Then, why don’t you tell me about it?”

Windu sighed noisily. “They want to give you a medal.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t want a medal.”

”I know,” said Mace, “And ordinarily, I’d agree with you. The Jedi don’t encourage such honorary recognitions.”

”So, why is this time different?”

”Obi-Wan,” said the Master, “we’re living in strange times. It might be to the advantage of the Order to be a little less unapproachable than is ordinarily our habit.”

”Fine,” said Obi-Wan. “Let them approach you. I don’t want a medal.”

Mace frowned, and there was a faint gleam of anger in the depths of his liquid eyes. “We’ll discuss it later.”

”Yes,” said Mirilent firmly. “You will. Because, right now, he’s coming with me, like a good little Jedi.”

”Hey,” said Sabé, as the tiny Bimar healer began to pull him toward the door, “medal or not, you can still come to dinner. Right? You and your padawan?”

Obi-Wan looked back, and saw a smile in the depths of her dark eyes, and its twin mirrored in those of the Queen. “Even Jedi have to eat,” he laughed. Then his eyes met those of Mace Windu. “But no medals.”

Rionne Aprelle barely managed to suppress a chuckle as she saw Windu struggle to maintain his control, as Mirilent pulled Obi-Wan from the room. The Master glared at her as he returned her gaze. “Don’t encourage him!” he snapped. “He’s already absorbed way too many lessons in defiance, from Qui-Gon.”

She leaned forward and laid a sympathetic hand on the tall Councilor’s shoulder. “I think you better find yourself another ‘media darling’, Master Mace. Because this one isn’t ever going to allow himself to be housebroken.”

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Varqa Soljan was as serene and tranquil in his manner as his wife was energetic and cyclonic in hers. He never appeared to be in a hurry - for anything - or to be impatient, with anyone. And he rarely approached anything directly, somehow getting much better results with oblique methods.

Obi-Wan sprawled in an oversized armchair, and studied his hands - those endlessly interesting hands that so fascinated him these days.

The Healer’s office was only dimly lighted, with the warm glow of a single desk lamp reflected in the patina of polished wood, and glinting in the metallic lettering barely visible on shelves and shelves of books - real books, the old-fashioned kind, with faux leather bindings and pages of real paper.

Obi-Wan finally gestured toward the floor-to-ceiling shelves. “Why do you have all those?”

Varqa took a moment to answer. “I love books.”

”But you could have so many more of them, in much less space, if you just put them on datapads.”

Varqa nodded. “But then they’d be datapads - not books.”

”What’s the difference?”

Varqa smiled gently. “What’s the difference between a nightmare and a vision?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes filled with shadow. “Reality,” he answered.

”Meaning one is real, and the other is not?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “One _may_ be real.”

Varqa merely nodded. “My young friend, you can make this as easy or as difficult as you choose. I have no control over what you decide to tell me. But I do have control over whether or not you are allowed to return to duty, and I will not do that until you convince me that you can cope with what is happening to you.”

Obi-Wan rose and began to pace. “Nothing is happening to me.”

Varqa gestured toward banks of holotape equipment in one large cabinet. “Do you want to see the holotapes, Obi-Wan? I doubt it will surprise you, but it might at least convince you that there is no point in denying this.”

The young knight dropped back into the armchair. “They’re just dreams,” he said finally.

”Just dreams,” Varqa repeated, “that are scaring you to death. A Jedi knight; a grown man who has faced and defeated a Sith Lord; a knight who has faced some of the worst horrors that the galaxy has ever produced. Obi-Wan, I may not have ever healed your body when you were brought into this wing, battered and broken and one breath away from death, but that doesn’t mean I was unaware of the things that happened to you, or the things that had been done to you.”

He rose and came around his desk to gaze down at the top of the young knight’s bowed head. “Do you know, my young friend, that you are one of only a handful of people who have ever made my wife cry? And I mean really cry - not just a stray tear here and there. When they brought you back from Coi-Dur. Do you remember that? My wife - who is, incidentally, as tough as they come - collapsed into my arms and sobbed like a baby that anyone could do such monstrous things to a child who deserved only goodness and light. Did you ever know that?”

”No.” Obi-Wan’s voice was a whisper, choked with unshed tears.

Varqa knelt, and reached out to pull the young man’s hands away from his face.

”You must let me help you, Obi-Wan. You must open your heart, and let me help you. Otherwise, we are both going to have to deal with my wife, and neither one of us may come out of it alive.”

Obi-Wan managed a small smile, before raising his eyes to meet those of the Healer. “I don’t know if you can help me,” he said finally. “I don’t know if anyone can.”

”Tell me,” said Varqa, very softly.

Obi-Wan nodded, and appeared to try to compose himself before beginning to speak. “Master Varqa, if what I’m seeing is truly a vision . . . “

”Yes?”

Obi-Wan drew a deep ragged breath. “Then someone needs to kill me - now. Before I do what my vision is telling me I will do.”

Varqa forced himself to speak calmly, despite the surge of fear within him. “And what is that, Obi-Wan?”

Tears spilled over now and traced their way down the young Jedi’s face. “I will destroy the Jedi, Master Varqa. I will destroy them all.”

Varqa somehow managed to suppress his own distress, as well as his own prophetic gifts, and reach out to the young man. “Is that what you want to do, Obi-Wan?”

The knight shook his head violently. “Of course not. But it’s as if I don’t have a choice, or rather, like I actually do have a choice, but the alternative is even worse.”

”And the alternative is?”

”I don’t know,” Obi-Wan answered, now staring off into space. “That’s part of the horror of it all; to know that there’s something worse, and not know what it is.”

Varqa was thoughtful for a moment; then decided to try a different tactic. “You say you see yourself destroying the Jedi? Is that generic, or do you see specifics?”

Obi-Wan rose and went to stare out through a slit in the heavy drapes that obscured the lone window. The day outside was crisp and bright, but within himself, he found only death and ashes. “It was vague, in the beginning. Just an overwhelming sense of destruction, and a glimpse of the Temple in ruins. But it’s getting more specific all the time. Now I see faces - familiar faces.”

Varqa nodded. “Whose faces, Obi-Wan?” he asked gently.

The young knight shuddered. “Reeft. Garen. Master Mace. Master Adi. All the Masters.” He turned to look at the Healer. “Yours and Mira’s. Dozens, even hundreds - maybe even thousands more.”

”All dead?”

”All dying. But still alive enough to speak to me.”

”And what do they say?”

”That it’s all my fault.” The whisper was ragged, hoarse, tortured. “That they are all dying, for me.”

”And then you awaken?”

Obi-Wan sank into a chair, as if his knees would no longer support him. “No. Then I receive one last visitor.”

It was Varqa’s turn to draw a deep breath. He didn’t need to be told the identity of that final spectre; given the young knight’s devastation, there was only one possibility.

”My Master asks me why I allowed this to happen. Why I didn’t stop it. And, at that moment, I know - I _know_ \- that I do have the power to stop it.”

He buried his face in his hands. “But I don’t know how.”

For a moment there was only silence. Then Varqa cleared his throat, and spoke in a very measured, very professional manner. “Obi-Wan, do you believe these are visions?”

The young knight didn’t look up. “I believe they’re warnings.”

”Warnings?” Varqa repeated sharply. “From whom?”

And Obi-Wan raised his eyes to meet those of the healer, and it was Varqa who ultimately could not maintain the contact. For he had never before seen such complete hopeless ruin in a man’s eyes. “Someone stronger than me,” came the whispered response. “Maybe stronger than the Jedi.”

Varqa reached out and laid a comforting palm on Obi-Wan’s forearm. “You mustn’t give in to this, Obi-Wan. This fear is of the Dark side.”

Obi-Wan nodded, then appeared to change the subject. “Master Varqa, do you know the prophecy of the Chosen One?”

For a moment, the healer thought that the young Jedi was simply trying to evade more introspection, but some instinct prompted him to allow the diversion. “It is a very old prophecy, I believe. Something about a ‘golden child bringing balance to the Force’, if I remember correctly.”

”Do you believe in the prophecy?”

Varqa smiled. “There have been many ‘golden’ children over the years, young Kenobi-and many rumors of the so-called ‘chosen one’. As far as I know, we’re still waiting.”

”But you don’t really disbelieve it?”

Varqa studied the shadows rampant now in those sea-change eyes. “I don’t think about it that much, I guess. But I can see that you’ve been thinking about it, quite a lot. I wonder . . . “

Obi-Wan heard the speculative note in the healer’s tone, and looked up to meet the Bimar’s gaze. “You wonder what?”

Varqa’s smile was gentle; the young knight might have been preoccupied with whatever nightmare had moved in and taken possession of his consciousness, but he was still perceptive enough to zero in on the healer’s uncertainty.

”What I was going to say was, I wonder if you ever knew that there was a time when some members of the Council thought that _you_ might be the chosen one.”

”Me?” The young Jedi almost laughed. “No way. I don’t have that kind of power.”

Varqa’s eyes were soft with sympathy. “I don’t think you - or anybody else - know what kind of power you have, yet. But that’s hardly the point here, is it? Why are you asking about the Chosen One?”

Obi-Wan’s breathing deepened, and his eyes took on that far-away gaze that seemed to penetrate beyond space and time. “My Master believed that Anakin Skywalker is the Chosen One.”

”Your padawan?”

”Yes. And he asked me to train him.”

Varqa nodded, again reaching out to comfort the young man. “His dying wish.”

”Yes.”

The healer paused to choose his next words carefully. “And it was a knife in your heart, wasn’t it?”

Obi-Wan clamped down - hard - on the bolt of sheer physical pain that shot through him. “Yes,” he managed. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t think I’m strong enough or wise enough or good enough. But I gave my word; I will do this, no matter how difficult it might be. But that’s not really what I’m worried about, Master Varqa.”

”Go on,” Varqa breathed, almost afraid to move for fear of disturbing the momentum of Obi-Wan’s thoughts.

”What is balance?” said the young knight, so softly it was almost inaudible.

”What?” Varqa repeated, not sure of the Jedi’s meaning.

Obi-Wan looked up, and his eyes were dark with horror. “Suppose ‘balance’ is a resurgence of the Dark side. For a thousand years, the Light side has been in ascendancy, at least in our galaxy. Suppose bringing balance means the destruction of the Light?”

”And your visions?”

Obi-Wan’s smile was bleak. “The restoration of ‘balance’.”

The silence engulfed them then, as both reflected on their conversation. Finally, Varqa moved back to his desk, and activated a computer panel. With a wave of his hand, he encoded a file, then turned to look at Obi-Wan.

”I’ve certified you ready for active duty,” he said softly. He laughed as Obi-Wan’s guarded expression metamorphosed into one of astonishment. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”

”Frankly, no,” replied the young knight. “Care to explain it?”

Varqa sat back in his well-worn old desk chair and regarded Obi-Wan with a cryptic smile. “Do I think you are having visions? Possibly. Do I have concerns about what those visions are showing you? Absolutely. But do I believe that restricting your duties - or preventing you from doing what you must do - will prevent those visions from becoming reality? No, I don’t.”

He sat forward, and his gaze intensified, until Obi-Wan could almost swear the small healer was staring straight into his soul. “You claim that you don’t have the power to be the ‘Chosen One’. I don’t think that’s yet been proven, young Kenobi. But I do know that you have prodigious gifts. Your Master knew it; the Council knows it. Force knows, my wife knows it. As do I. And as far as your contention that you personally will bring about the destruction of the Jedi, that’s something that none of us can know. All we can do is judge by the person you are, and always have been. There is no darkness in you, Obi-Wan. If I don’t know that, my wife most assuredly does, so we must trust you to be true to who you are. I don’t know if you can alter your dark visions, but I’m fairly confident that, if you can’t, then no one can.”

”So I’m free to go?” Despite the uncertainties still raging within him, the notion of being free of the healers’ oversight was enough to gladden his heart, for the moment.

Varqa raised a precautionary hand. “With the proviso that you continue to check in with Mirilent, on a schedule to be determined by her, and . . . _and_ ” - this was said as Obi-Wan rose to bolt - “that you check in with me if you continue to have difficulty sleeping. I’m going to give you something to help with that problem. You’ll be no good to anyone if you’re falling asleep on the job.”

He reached into a desk drawer and handed Obi-Wan a bottle filled with tiny green pills. “Just one,” he cautioned, “or you’ll be asleep for a week.”

Obi-Wan pocketed the pills and headed for the door, a renewed bounce in his step. As he made good his escape, another door in the rear of the office opened, to admit Mirilent Soljan.

Varqa beamed at his tiny wife. “Ah, Mira, the resilience of the young! If we could bottle it, we could retire on a resort world with a full staff of servants.”

But there was no answering smile from Mirilent. “He’s afraid, Varqa. I’ve never seen him afraid before - not like this.”

He sighed. “I know, my love. But it’s not a battle we can fight for him. I’m not even sure it’s a battle anyone can help him fight. This one, he may be forced to fight alone.”

”And if he fails?”

He put his arms around her, and wiped a tear from her face. “Then we lose, Mira. We all lose. And he loses most of all.”

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

”Anakin,” Obi-Wan shouted, very close to losing whatever small scrap of patience he was still clinging to, “if you climb over that railing one more time, I’m going to lock you in a closet.”

Some ten meters overhead, sitting astride the topmost rail of the low-grav hockey arena, Anakin reluctantly withdrew his foot and settled for laying across the bar, almost - but not quite - overbalancing. Directly below him, in the bowl-shaped field of play, Reeft, Garen, Ramal Dyprio, and a few other Jedi were engaged in a fierce competition against a group of local toughs.

Obi-Wan and Rionne sat at a small bistro-style table jammed up against the glass at the very edge of the playing surface, with the remains of several lunches scattered across the surface.

Rionne watched as Obi-Wan’s eyes darted from the action below them, then up to his Padawan’s precarious perch, then back down to the concave ice. Finally, she laughed softly.

He turned to look at her. “What?”

”I was just thinking that you and your Padawan are going to make quite a pair,” she remarked. “I don’t know which of you wants to be out there more.”

He grinned. “You don’t play?”

She favored him with a long look from beneath copper-tinted lashes. “No, thanks. I prefer my contact sports in pursuits which do not require the regular replacement of bones or teeth or skin.”

And, at that exact moment, a tangle of players slammed up against the transparent wall beside them. They were there and gone in only a second, but the smear of red left on the wall was ample evidence of the force of the contact.

”I think that was Reeft,” said Obi-Wan, his eyes following the now air-borne puck - and the players sailing after it.

”I rest my case,” she replied.

He turned abruptly away from the ice, and surprised a strange expression on her face. “What?” he asked, reaching for his soft drink.

”Nothing,” she answered, looking down.

He cleared his throat, studying her face as subtly as possible. Beneath the silken drift of her incredible hair, along the line of her jaw, there were three small imbedded objects - faceted, brilliantly reflective, glowing deep garnet when the light struck them at just the perfect angle.

”May I?” he asked finally, gesturing toward the tiny stones.

She grinned. “Sure - just very gently. OK?”

He touched the first stone with one tentative finger. “Do they hurt?”

She shook her head. “You’ve never seen b’riffia before,” she asked.

”No.” His fingers touched the skin around the imbedded stones, with exquisite gentleness.

With a grin, she reached out and gently tapped his ear lobe, where a small scar was the only remainder of the piercing he had had done when he turned seventeen. “Does that hurt?”

He grinned. “Not any more. Although the memory is somewhat painful.”

”It hurt?” she asked, surprised.

”Only when Qui-Gon saw it.”

She laughed. “I take it he didn’t approve.”

”You take it correctly. I’ll spare you the play-by-play. But you never answered my question - did this hurt?”

She smiled. “No more than your piercing.”

He watched as she turned her head, and saw the small stones glimmer in the shifting light. It was, he had to admit, completely charming.

”You’re dying of curiosity, aren’t you?” she asked, watching his eyes.

He just nodded, slightly shame-faced.

She laughed, and he was struck, once again, with the musical quality of the sound. “I’m Chal-Si,” she reminded him. “Jedi or not, I remain Chal-Si. And on Chal-Sira, a young female without b’riffia is an object of scorn and pity. It’s a tradition that goes back hundreds of generations.” She lowered her lashes, then looked up at him, catching him by surprise. And, once more, he felt himself pulled into the gold-tinted darkness of her eyes. “Do you like them?”

He sat back abruptly. “They’re quite beautiful,” he answered, but his eyes refused to meet hers again.

He glanced once more up at his Padawan, and decided that he would probably be better off if he just didn’t look at him. His perch was probably not nearly as precarious as it looked from down here - probably. “Where’s Kammian?” he asked, once more not looking at Rionne.

Rionne was perfectly aware of not being looked at, and she smiled. “My Padawan has little interest in violent sports. She is practicing katas with Master Gallia.”

”You know,” he said quietly, “I really admire what you did. Taking her on as your Padawan, I mean. It can’t be easy, when she was with her original Master for so long.”

She sighed. “No, you’re right. It hasn’t been easy. I’m having a little trouble establishing our link.” She glanced up at Anakin, and resolved not to tell Obi-Wan that the boy was hanging over the pit like a scrap of laundry on a wire. “Frankly, you and Anakin make me just a little jealous. It seems to come very easily to you.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “I wish I could take credit for it, but I’m afraid it’s all Anakin. He’s really something special.”

Her smile was warm enough to make him feel slightly uncomfortable. “Don’t sell yourself short. I think he thinks he’s got a pretty special Master.”

He looked down at the marred and pitted surface of the little table, and paused to consider his next words carefully. “Rionne, I never did apologize to you for my behavior, in the hangar. That was unforgivably boorish and . . .”

”And totally male,” she interrupted. “Don’t worry about it, Alpha Male. I know testosterone when I hear it.”

He propped his chin in his hands and looked at her solemnly. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that,” he observed.

She laughed. “Now don’t tell me it offends you.”

”No,” he answered, “but it does surprise me, a little.”

She leaned forward until her liquid amber eyes were on a level with his, and winked. “Don’t - be - ridiculous,” she said evenly.

”Pardon me?”

”You heard me. If you’re going to sit there and claim that you don’t know what you are, then you can expect me to call you a bald-faced liar.”

He blushed, brick red.

”Aha!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “Don’t even think about trying to project false modesty, Obi-Wan Kenobi. It doesn’t suit you. You were the pride of Qui-Gon Jinn’s life. You’re the darling of the whole Jedi Council, not to mention the entire city of Coruscant. Just settle back, and enjoy the ride.”

But he shook his head. “I don’t enjoy this kind of thing.”

Her laughter died on her lips. “You really don’t, do you?”

He sipped his drink. “Let’s talk about you,” he suggested.

”My favorite subject,” she laughed. “What do you want to know?”

”How did you and Garen meet?”

She regarded him strangely for a moment. “That’s your question? How did I meet Garen.”

He nodded, once more avoiding her eyes.

”OK. We were on a guard detail together. Escorting Chancellor Valorum and his daughter to a public forum meeting on Malastaire.”

”He is very taken with you,” he said softly, playing with the straw in his drink.

She set her own drink down sharply. “Obi-Wan?”

”Yes.”

”Look at me.”

He raised his eyes, and saw sparks of flame reflected in hers. “Garen and I have been lovers. Is that what you want to know?”

”No,” he replied quickly. “I just . . .”

Her smile now was cold. “You just don’t poach on another man’s territory. Right?”

Again, he blushed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

”Didn’t you?”

”No, I didn’t.”

”OK,” she said with a small smile, “let’s go for a change of subject. Why don’t you tell me about your little friends from Naboo?”

He shrugged. “They’re very young,” he said softly.

She laughed. “And you’re not?”

He looked up at her, and, for a moment, it was as if everything around them receded and left them at the center of an empty universe. Eyes of sunlit ocean blue met and held those of sun-shot topaz. “Not that young,” he managed to reply. It was debatable which of them would have broken that staring contest first, if Anakin had not bounced up to the table.

”This is so wizard, Obi-Wan,” he exclaimed, almost yelling in his Master’s ear. “Can I have another soda?”

”Sure, Ani,” the young knight answered, handing the boy a coin.

When he turned back around, Rionne was regarding him with a half-smile. “Saved by the padawan,” she murmured.

Obi-Wan turned and looked down at the gang tackle in progress on the ice. _You have no idea._

It wasn’t meant for broadcast, but he was pretty sure she heard it anyway.

*** *** *** *** ***

When Obi-Wan met Master Yoda in the Temple gardens, he found that he was grateful for the quiet and serenity of the surroundings. It had been a long, eventful day, and he still had a banquet to attend. So he hoped this would not be one of Master Yoda’s protracted, enigmatic sessions. He really didn’t feel much like solving riddles, or, worse, trying to solve those that were unsolvable.

The tiny Jedi watched the newly-created knight approach and said nothing for a while. Simply looking.

”Kneel, you will,” he said finally. “See your eyes, I must.”

Obediently, Obi-Wan dropped to one knee, and lowered his head.

At this close range, it was no great feat for Obi-Wan to pick up on the Master’s mood. Not even Yoda could completely shield against emotional broadcasting at such close proximity. Obi-Wan’s eyes widened.

”Master,” he said in a whisper, “tell me what you see.”

”Tell you, I cannot, Boy. It is your vision that must be spoken.”

”Master, I can’t. Please.”

Yoda reached out and laid a gentle hand on Obi-Wan’s hair. And the young knight looked up and felt his world tremble beneath him, for surely that couldn't possibly be a tear in Master Yoda’s eye - something, he was quite sure, no one else had ever seen before.

”Walk with me, young one. For just this little time.”

”Master?”

”Speak of it, I cannot. And you cannot. What will come, will come, and I fear nothing can we do to stop it.”

”But . . .”

”No, young Obi-Wan. I had thought to mold the future. Now I see that there is only one among us who can do that.”

And Obi-Wan lowered his head to his hands and allowed the tears in his eyes to flow. “Is it I, Master?”

And Yoda stroked the fine, ginger hair. “The answer you already know, Little One.”

Obi-Wan surged to his feet, and turned as if to bolt away.

”Walk with me, you will,” said the tiny Master, and though his voice was barely more than a whisper, it carried the weight of the Jedi behind it.

”For the last time, my Master?”

The sleepy, crystalline eyes gazed up at him. “Your choice, that will be, Young One. Love you, we always will. This you will remember.”

They moved out of the gardens and walked slowly through the corridors of the Temple. It was almost the dinner hour, and more and more residents were in the halls, going to and from classrooms, and cafeteria, and training rooms.

As they walked, necessarily slowly due to the tiny Master’s stature, Yoda began to speak. Obi-Wan simply listened, still bemused by their exchange in the garden.

”A unique perspective have I,” said Yoda. “See things differently, I do.”

”Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan’s response was by rote; he wasn’t really listening.

”Notice much, one does, at this level,” the tiny Master continued. “See when things change. Even when fashions change. Reasons for change, there always are, though reasons are not always easily determined.”

”Yes, Master.”

”Come and go, fashions do. Much have I seen, in my life. Much more will I see. But always easy, explanations are not.”

”No, Master.”

The tiny Master stopped at a busy corner and gazed around him, just as Master Depa Billaba approached them, stopped, and hitched one foot up on a bench to adjust her footwear.

”So explain to me, young Kenobi,” said Yoda, “why it should be that, suddenly, all the females in the Temple are wearing boots.”

And Obi-Wan looked down to see Master Billaba adjusting the cuff of a butter-soft knee high, leather boot, and flashing a smile his way that was as bright as a supernova. He looked around, and confirmed Master Yoda’s words; every female within his line of sight was wearing boots - tall, high-heeled, leather boots.

Obi-Wan bowed to Master Yoda. “I must beg your pardon, my Master,” he said softly. “I have an urgent errand to run.”

And he spun and sprinted down the hall, doing his best to avoid legions of boot-clad young women, not to mention some not-so-young women.

 _Reeft._ His projection was as loud as a bellow. _You better hope your life insurance is paid up, because you are a dead man._

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Shadows Rising

 

"By the Force, Obi-Wan, if you don't stand still, I'm going to smack you."

The young knight huffed a deep sigh - his third in as many minutes. "Mira, this is just stupid. Why do I have to dress differently? It's not like I'm in disguise or anything. I'm still going to be a Jedi knight."

She turned him back towards her and fumbled with the metal closure of his dress tunic - a tunic he had worn a grand total of four times in his adult life. In contrast to the coarse-textured beige tunics he normally wore, this garment was tailored, and close-fitting, it's color a deep, rich mahogany brown.

"Oh, stop fussing," she admonished. "You look quite dashing."

"I'm not supposed to look 'dashing'." He grumped. "I'm supposed to look like a Jedi."

She adjusted his belt. "Let me tell you a secret, Obi. I could wrap you in a burlap sack, twine flowers in your hair, and dip you in melted caroba, and you'd still look like a Jedi."

He sighed dramatically - again. "I haven't needed someone to dress me since I was six years old."

She stepped back and looked him over, head to toe. "Quit whining. You don't want to get up in front of all those dignitaries, looking scruffy. Do you?"

He managed a weak smile. "You're not helping. I don't want to get up in front of anybody."

"I know," she said softly - much more softly than was her wont, causing him to regard her solemnly.

"Hey!" he said, allowing the smile to broaden slightly. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing," she snapped, reaching up and smoothing his hair. But he could still read something unusual in her eyes.

"What?" he insisted.

She laid a tiny hand against his cheek, and took her own deep breath. "I miss the braid," she said finally.

He caught her hand, turned it over, and planted a quick kiss on her palm. "Me, too. Marry me, and I'll grow you a new one."

She chuckled. "Oh, be still my heart. Wait! I'll run put on my boots."

He groaned. "He better thank the stars for this banquet, for granting him a few more hours to live. Cause when I find him . . ."

But she was shaking her head. "Obi-Wan, I don't think Reeft did this. I mean, I know he's something of a loose cannon sometimes, but I can't picture him spreading this around. Not deliberately, anyway. Although I guess someone could have pried it out of him, but that assumes that they had to know there was something there to pry."

He frowned at his reflection in the mirror. "Nobody else knew."

A quick movement in the mirror's shadows announced the emergence of Anakin Skywalker from his bedroom, and both Obi-Wan and Mirilent turned to look at him.

"What?" said the boy quickly, a hint of suspicion clouding pale blue eyes.

And Obi-Wan traded quick glances with Mirilent. Catching her stray thought was child's play. _Nobody?_

"Come, Ani," she said with a smile. "Let me check you over. I hope you show more maturity and patience than your Master."

But it was Obi-Wan who moved to stand in front of his Padawan, and look him over with an appraising eye. After a moment, he brushed an imaginary spec of dust from the boy's shoulder, and tugged gently on his belt, adjusting it just a fraction. Finally, he tucked the stubby padawan braid behind Anakin's ear. "Very nice, Ani. You look great."

Anakin's eyes were huge as he gazed up at his Master. "You, too, Master Obi-Wan. You look . . ."

"What?"

"I don't know - different. More grown-up, I guess."

Obi-Wan grinned. "Oh, no. Anything but that. After this very boring banquet, we're just going to have to see if we can't do something to erase that impression."

"Like what?" The boy's smile was brilliant.

"Surprise me," said the Master.

"Me? Really?"

"Absolutely, as long as it doesn't involve embarrassing myself in public, which is something I seem to be doing way too much of, these days."

Mirilent watched the interaction between the two, and felt a twinge of melancholy creep over her. Almost as much a child of her own as her own twin sons, this tall, well-muscled young Jedi was obviously no longer the boy she had come to love. He was a man now, and she knew that her pride in him was second only to that his Master had known. But, still, when she had lamented the absence of his Padawan braid, it had little to do with the severed hair - and everything to do with the childhood it symbolized.

Obi-Wan, ever more sensitive to the feelings of those around him than he should have been, glanced her way, and spied the suspicious glimmer in her eyes. He came to her quickly, yet without the kind of jerky haste that would have alerted an observer - or his Padawan - of something amiss. "What is it with you today?" he asked softly.

"Just silliness. Don't mind me."

He stared down at her for a moment, his eyes, from her perspective, seeing far too much. "I've known you most of my life," he murmured. "And you've been a lot of things over the years, but silly? That's not one of them. What's wrong?"

And she turned her face up to impale him with her gaze. "Why don't _you_ tell me?"

"Can't tell you what I don't know, Love," he replied, non-committal to the end.

She was careful to keep her voice down. "Something's coming, Obi. You know that as well as I do. Probably better than I do, because you're so strong in the unifying Force. Something dark . . . and ugly."

His eyes darkened as he stared off into the distance. "I know."

"Can you stop it?"

A trace of smoldering resentment rose within him, plainly revealed in his face. "Why would you think that?"

But she refused to be distracted. "Because _you_ think you're the only one who can."

His smile held no warmth. "Conceited little bastard, aren't I?"

She smiled. "Arrogant to the bitter end, I'd say."

He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. "It's only arrogance," he said softly, "if you can't back it up."

She chuckled as he turned away and reached for his cape. Anakin stood waiting patiently, holding his Master's light saber. As Obi-Wan attached it to his belt, the apprentice looked up with a sly smile. "The queen will be impressed."

Obi-Wan paused for a minute and peered into his Padawan's eyes. 'I think," he said softly, "the queen will only have eyes for you - her favorite young man."

Anakin actually blushed, then went to fetch his own cape.

"How do you do it?" asked Mirilent, with obvious amusement.

"Do what?"

"Always know exactly what to say."

He shrugged and favored her with a twinkle of azure eyes. "It's a gift."

She tried to reply in kind; she really did. But that shadow was once more in her eyes.

"Will you stop?" he said finally, putting an arm around her shoulder, and laying his chin atop the crown of her head. "It's not like you to fuss so much. Is something else bothering you?"

She looked down, determined that he would not read the depth of her concern in her eyes. "I'm worried . . . "

"About what?"

"I'm worried you're going to get so busy slaying everybody else's draigons, that you're going to forget about your own."

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Due to the extreme, layer-upon-layer-upon-layer crowding of the entire surface of Coruscant, the word "estate" had a slightly different meaning there than on any other planet in the galaxy. Thus, the 'estate' reserved for the Supreme Chancellor was without the grand gardens and extensive grounds enjoyed by planetary VIP's on other worlds. It did, however, manage to take up an entire tower of a multi-level residential housing complex, and was graced with dozens of terraces, balconies, and tiered atria. It also featured a broad, formally landscaped landing pad/receiving area, one level down from the glass-enclosed penthouse, and it was here that Chancellor Palpatine and his senior staff formed a receiving line to greet invited guests.

Since virtually everything within his view was new and exciting to Anakin Skywalker, he was neither awed nor bothered by arriving at the grand residence in this fashion, in the company of the Queen of Naboo and her entourage. His Master, however, though certainly not awed - in the course of his duties, he had attended celebrations of such splendor in places of such luxury that this occasion paled by comparison - was bothered by being treated differently from the other Jedi who would be present for this event. In fact, as he presented his arm, to escort Amidala from the limo, he was forced to tamp down on his extreme annoyance, lest the Queen interpret his attitude as surliness directed toward her.

And nobody, least of all a healthy young male (Jedi or not) with a functional libido could have possibly been surly toward the young Queen as she appeared on this occasion. Swathed in layer upon layer of midnight blue shimmer silk, and caped in a matching jewel-edged cloak, Amidala was radiant, even though her features were somewhat obscured by the heavy application of her trademark cosmetic mask. Still, nothing could disguise the warm glow of her sable-tinted eyes, and she had, for once, dispensed with the massive headpiece she so frequently wore, and allowed her glorious hair to fall free from a diadem of Alderaanian pearls, accented with dark, Mon Calamarian coral.

As she rose and took his arm, she looked up at Obi-Wan and winked. "Will I do?" she said softly.

He cleared his throat as he was suddenly adrift in her fragrance. "Only if your objective is to dazzle every man in sight," he answered, resisting an urge to squirm.

She smiled. "Not every man. In fact, just one."

"Your Highness," called Sabé sharply. "We seem to be creating a traffic jam."

"Cheeky," he murmured, "isn't she?"

The Queen's smile became a grin. "You have no idea."

Sabé, sleek and elegant in matte black with a collar of gold-webbed garnets, was tapping her foot impatiently as they neared the exit. 

"Come on, Obi-Wan," urged Anakin, eyes darting from wonder to wonder, oblivious to the smiles his own enthusiasm was generating.

Obi-Wan paused as he swept the waiting crowd with a keen gaze. Flanking Chancellor Palpatine's retinue were a brace of Senatorial security guards and a full complement of Jedi knights, including Master Ramal Dyprio, Rionne Aprelle and her Padawan, Kammian Tyra; Master Depa Billaba, and, of course, Garen, and Reeft. The only notable absence was that of Master Yoda, who was nowhere to be found. Obi-Wan's eyes were frosty as he noted the unmistakable wobble of Reeft's Adam's apple. A barely-there hint of a nod from young Kenobi was sufficient to cause Reeft to attempt to swallow again, only to discover he had no saliva with which to do so.

"O-o-o-h, Sith," he whispered to Garen. "He's gonna kill me."

Garen suppressed a grin. "You said you didn't do it. Just tell him that."

"Right. I'll just tell him. Before or after he kills me - what do you think?"

Rionne leaned forward and favored Reeft with a smile. "He's one man. We can take him."

Garen cleared his throat. "Uh-h, Ri?"

"Um hmm."

"He may be just one man, but that man is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Barehanded, we might be able to gang up and hold him. With a saber? Forget it. He makes hash of us all."

"Oh, come on," she retorted. "He's really got you guys bluffed out, doesn't he? Nobody's that good."

Master Depa Billaba had been listening, a bemused smile on her face. Now she turned toward them with a good-natured grin. "Qui-Gon Jinn was that good. And this is his apprentice. You may all believe as you choose, and, of course, the greatest weapon in any competition is the mind - and the heart. But I'd advise you not to bet against him."

Rionne watched as Obi-Wan stepped down from the transport, his cape swirling around him, and the Queen of Naboo in complete possession of his arm. "I never got to see them duel with each other. How was it?"

Garen sighed. "Spectacular. Unbelievable." He chuckled. "Dangerous, if you got in their way."

"I wish I could have seen that," said Rionne.

Master Billaba turned to face Ramal Dyprio. "What do you think, Master Ramal? Qui-Gon admitted - once or twice - that you were the only other Master in the Temple that he wasn't sure he could take, except for Mace, of course. Could you take Kenobi?"

Dyprio's grin was almost feral. "Truth to tell? I'm not sure. But I sure would like the chance to try."

Rionne still looked unconvinced. "He's just not that big."

The group around her exchanged gleeful smiles. "Haven't you heard, Ri," said Garen.

Then came the chorus. "Size matters not."

The royal Naboo party made its way down the receiving line, with Obi-Wan and Anakin maintaining a balance between being members of the party, and keeping watch over it. Though the Padawan was completely caught up in the pomp and circumstance of the event, the Master appeared reserved and somewhat wary. As they neared the Chancellor and his most senior staffers, Obi-Wan's eyes swept the crowd, barely registering the actions of those at his side.

"Hey, Superstar," said a voice right beside his ear. Garen was watching Obi-Wan, who was watching everyone else. "What's going on?"

"A disturbance in the Force," came the sotto voice response. "Close - very close."

Garen turned to look out over the crowd. "You sure? I don't sense anything."

"It's here," Obi-Wan murmured, unable to determine the source of the feeling of dread within him, but trusting his instincts nonetheless, just as his Master had taught him to do. "Well hidden, but here, nonetheless."

"Should I alert the others?"

Obi-Wan's hand rested easily on the hilt of his light saber. "Just make sure everyone is paying attention."

Garen smiled. "You have the Supreme Chancellors, present and prior, half the Senate, and royalty from a score of worlds in attendance. I think everyone is going to be on their toes."

Obi-Wan just nodded.

"Very handsome, Master Obi-Wan," said Master Billaba, with just the barest trace of a leer in her smile. For the space of a heartbeat, he feared she might hike up her robe to reveal her boots. To his eternal gratitude, she didn't.

He answered with a weak smile.

"Obi?" said Garen, still studying the crowd.

"What?"

"He didn't do it."

"Who - didn't do what?"

"Reeft."

"Um hmmm."

"Come on. You know him better than that. He wouldn't lie."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to respond, but was silenced by a firm touch on his arm. "Jedi Kenobi," said Finis Valorum, quietly, "may I speak with you privately?"

"Of course, Sir," Obi-Wan replied smoothly, passing Queen Amidala's hand to Garen without missing a step.

As the young knight followed Valorum into the interior of the residence, several pairs of eyes followed their passage, and none seemed particularly pleased about it.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Obi-Wan walked quietly behind the recently unseated Supreme Chancellor, that feeling of unease still tugging at his consciousness, and felt a small sense of relief as they moved into a small clerical office; he noted, without surprise, that the silver-haired civil servant seemed restless and anxious. Before taking a seat at the small desk that was the room's only furniture, Valorum carefully locked the door.

"Is something wrong, Sir?" asked Obi-Wan.

Valorum actually managed a bitter smile. "Beyond the obvious, you mean?"

The young knight heard the tremor in the mellifluous voice, and saw lines of grief in the politician's face. "Sir, I haven't had the chance to offer my condolences on the loss of your daughter. If there is anything I can do . . ."

"Actually," replied Valorum, "you've already done more than anyone could have asked. I wanted to speak to you personally, before this media circus begins, to tell you how very grateful I am for your actions at the museum."

"Sir, I only . . . "

"Did what Jedi do?" Valorum interrupted. "Of course. But this time, you did it in a cause very dear to my heart. That museum was founded by my father; it was his legacy. If it had not been for your actions, it would have become a tomb of unknown victims. I will forever grieve for those we lost, but, if not for you, it could have been so much worse." He rose and went to stand at the heavily draped window.

Obi-Wan tried not to fidget. "I'm glad I was able to help, Sir."

Valorum turned back to study the young Jedi's expression. "I'm embarrassing you. And this muggery tonight is only going to make it worse. Isn't it?"

Obi-Wan just smiled, unable to lie and unwilling to agree.

Valorum turned back to the window. "I also wished to express my condolences on the loss of your Master. I know it has been difficult for you."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Given your own bereavement, Sir, I'm amazed that you've even thought about it."

Valorum raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you noticed, my friend, that sentient beings have an almost infinite capacity for mourning? Especially considering how limited is our capacity for love or compassion. We seem to always have room within us for more grief. Somehow, I think that should be reversed. Don't you?"

As this was obviously a rhetorical question, Obi-Wan remained silent.

"There is another reason I wanted to speak to you," continued the ex-Chancellor. "Two other reasons, actually. I know they're probably getting impatient for your return, so I'll make this brief."

He moved to stand directly in front of Obi-Wan and regarded him gently. "I knew your Master rather well, Young Kenobi. We were not friends, exactly. More like acquaintances of long duration. But certain circumstances occurred that caused us to know each other better than most. He was not a public man - not at all the type to share emotional confidences, not even, I think, with those closest to him. Not even with you. Am I correct?"

Obi-Wan just nodded, not sure where this was leading and not sure he wanted to follow it to its conclusion.

Valorum moved back to his contemplation of the sights beyond the window. "Several weeks before your trip to Naboo, I had an appointment with Qui-Gon, to discuss a related matter. When he arrived, as it happened, my grandchildren were in my office, concluding a visit. Unlike many among the general population, children don't seem to be overawed by the Jedi. Have you noticed that?"

Again, Obi-Wan just nodded.

"Within a few minutes, my youngest - who is only three - was perched on Master Jinn's knee, asking impertinent questions. All of which, your Master answered, with gentle good humor. And when their nurse arrived and took them back to their nursery, I remarked that all men should be blessed with such a legacy. It was a stupid remark to make to a Jedi, or so I thought when I remembered to whom I was speaking. But I was wrong."

Valorum turned again to face Obi-Wan. "He seemed slightly bemused at that moment. And when he spoke, I don't know if he even realized that I was still in the room, for he seemed to be speaking to himself. What he said was, that he was also grateful that he would have a fine legacy to leave behind him. That he would have his Obi-Wan, who was all the legacy he could ever have hoped for."

Now it was Obi-Wan's turn to walk to the window and peer out into the darkness, fighting back the sting of tears.

Valorum allowed him his privacy. "I wanted to tell you that. I thought it was important for you to know."

For a few moments, there was only silence. Then Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "And the third thing?"

Valorum took a deep breath. "I believe we are in grave danger, Jedi Kenobi. Personally, and publicly. Too many things are happening, too quickly. I fear for the future of the Republic and the Jedi Order. I know it is being said that you killed the Sith at Naboo. But I must know. Everything I have ever read about the Sith suggests that there are always two in positions of power - a Master, and an apprentice."

"And you want to know which I killed," said Obi-Wan.

"Yes."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Strange, but no one else has asked me that question."

Valorum merely waited. 

"Probably because they already know. The apprentice," said Obi-Wan, with soft certainty. "I killed the apprentice."

"How do you know?"

Obi-Wan turned to face the ex-Chancellor, and squared his shoulders. "Because the Master is still out there, and he's stalking _me_."

"The Force has told you this?"

Obi-Wan nodded, not wanting to get into whether or not it was the Force - or something darker and more malevolent - that was screaming warnings in his consciousness.

Valorum sat once more at the desk; if he had been seeking reassurance from the Jedi, it was obvious he had not gotten what he wanted. "I urged Chancellor Palpatine to delay this summit, in order to allow more time to make adequate security arrangements. But he felt that calling the meeting without prior notice would allow no opportunity for any opposition force to plan an attack."

"He has a point," mused Obi-Wan, more bothered than he wanted to reveal by Valorum's use of the term, "opposition force". Had they reached the point at which such a term was applicable?

"Yes, provided the aim of such a force is a sophisticated, strategic master stroke. But it takes little advance planning - and less imagination - to bring in a boatload of thugs with portable ion pulsar cannons."

"You have specific information?" Obi-Wan asked quickly.

"No. But my operatives tell me there are rumors and counter-rumors and still more rumors. With so much smoke, one must wonder if there is not a fire somewhere. What does the Force tell you?"

The young Jedi closed his eyes, and opened himself fully, and almost staggered under the onslaught of waves of random energy. It was no longer just a disturbance in the Force; it was rather as if the disturbance _was_ the Force. But still, there was nothing specific on which to fix and no compelling evidence of a surge of Darkside energy, although Obi-Wan was pretty sure it was there, lurking beneath the surface.

"Nothing definitive," he said finally. "But there is a sense of expectancy. Something is definitely coming this way."

He opened his eyes, and fixed Valorum with a stern gaze. "I need you to remain here, Sir. There are too many targets here tonight for us to be able to safeguard them all. You should be safe here, and I must go. Right now."

But Valorum was not one to shrink from his duty or to be cowed by threats. "I won't hide in here, Knight Kenobi. Have you seen the guest list for this gathering?"

Obi-Wan paused at the door and shook his head. 

"There is much opposition, particularly in the rim worlds, to increasing the power of the Republic, especially in regards to military mobilization."

Obi-Wan nodded. He was well aware of the situation.

Valorum took a deep breath. "Most of the governing dignitaries of those systems are present here tonight. I believe it is the chancellor's intention to try to convince them to change their stance on this issue during this conference. But it also presents a golden opportunity for those who, shall we say, prefer a more direct approach to changing policy."

"I would still prefer, Sir, if you would remain here."

But Valorum would not be persuaded. "Too often, we expect the Jedi to fight all our battles for us. It's a habit of long standing, which we must break. For frankly, my young friend, there are simply too few of you, and too many of them."

Obi-Wan finally shrugged, not really wanting to know how the ex-Chancellor had come to that conclusion. "As you wish. But please stay close to me at all times."

As they emerged from the office, they were just in time to encounter Chancellor Palpatine and his senior staff members as they made their way toward the ballroom where the banquet would be held.

For one brief, surreal moment, Obi-Wan thought he saw something in the Chancellor's eyes - something cold and bleak and forbidding. But it was gone almost before he registered its presence, and he dismissed it as a trick of the soft lighting in the corridor.

"Chancellor," he called, careful to avoid any sense of urgency, yet lacing his tone with the barest trace of Jedi compulsion.

Palpatine paused and turned to face the young knight. "How can I assist you, Knight Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan moved forward and spoke softly, for Palpatine's hearing only. "Sir, we have reason to believe there could be trouble tonight. May I speak with your security advisor?"

Palpatine took a deep breath and laid his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I appreciate your concerns, young Jedi, but I assure you we have taken every precaution. And you are not here tonight to guarantee our safety. You are here so that we may recognize your heroic actions. Please do not concern yourself with security arrangements."

"But . . . "

The Chancellor leaned closer, his eyes gazing into Obi-Wan's (and the young Jedi had the oddest urge to jerk free of the politician's hand). "No buts. If you feel you must, then alert your Jedi compatriots. But please do so discreetly. We don't want a panic on our hands, now do we? And then, please proceed to your designated spot in the banquet hall." Those hooded eyes - somehow reminiscent of a great bird of prey - flicked over to register Valorum's presence. "Chancellor Valorum is also seated near you, if I am not mistaken."

Valorum merely nodded, and Palpatine noted - not for the first time - that a dark gleam of suspicion seemed to dwell deep within his predecessor's eyes.

Obi-Wan was hard put to conceal his lack of patience with such political machinations, and he knew, full well, that he was being used as part of a power play between various factions of the Senate. Nevertheless, one did not flagrantly disregard the directions of the most powerful political figure in the Republic. So, as the Chancellor and his party resumed their progress to the banquet hall, Obi-Wan activated his com link.

"Garen." 

"Right here, Buddy. What's up?"

"Have you all felt it?"

"In varying degrees, yes. Master Billaba and Reeft are getting mild sensations. Padawan Kammian and Master Ramal are practically bouncing off the walls with it. And the rest of us fall somewhere in between. How about you?"

"I think I'm getting close to wall-bouncing. I tried to alert the Chancellor, but I think he's more worried about his political plotting than any physical threat. How's my Padawan?"

"Being very stiff, upper lip, and on the verge of panic without his Master."

Obi-Wan smiled. "See that he gets to the right table, will you? I'm going to take a quick look around before I go in."

"Uhh, Obi?"

"Yes?"

"I'm being told to tell you that you're one of the guests of honor here, and you're not supposed to be taking tours of the premises. We'll take care of it."

"And who exactly is telling you that?"

And a new voice provided the answer. "Obi-Wan, this is Council Master Depa Billaba. Must I repeat the message?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "No, Master. I got it, loud and clear."

Finis Valorum hid a smile as he fell into step beside the young Jedi. He thought that, if the Jedi Council believed they were ever going to manage to turn this particular knight into a docile little media pet, they had better re-examine their beliefs.

For Obi-Wan's part, as he moved into the banquet room, he heard, in his thoughts, a peal of soft, feminine, very musical laughter. _Better do what Master Depa says, Obi, or she's going to use one of those oh-so-sexy boots to kick your charming little rear end._

 _Not you too?_ He stifled a mental groan.

_Hey! I was the original - remember? The inspiration for your little indiscretion._

Obi-Wan had arrived at his designated seat and looked across the width of the hall to lock eyes with Rionne Aprelle. _I'm still going to kill him._

She grinned and made a quick face at him. _No, you're not. Because he really didn't tell anyone. I did._

Disbelief flared in the depths of his eyes, as he considered her remark. _How did you . . ._

_If you recall - you were broadcasting rather loudly at the time._

His smile grew rueful. _Revenge is sweet?_

And he heard that laughter again. _Smart boy. Now paint a smile on your face; charm every one around you - and be a good little media darling._

As he sank into his seat, the Queen of Naboo, on his left, and his Padawan, on his right, both looked up at him with obvious relief. And one last remark came to him over another peal of laughter. _And try not to get arrested for contributing to the delinquency, if you know what I mean._

And he glanced toward the Queen and swallowed - hard - as she let her cape slide from her shoulders to reveal the semi-plunging neckline of her gown, baring a plentiful expanse of creamy white skin. Involuntarily, his eyes rose to meet those of his telepathic tease, and Rionne's smile took on a definite feline quality.

Anakin Skywalker had rather enjoyed the first half hour of his initiation into the upper realm of Coruscant society. The splendor of the setting, combined with the elegance of the guests and their costumes, left him wide-eyed and speechless; he had never seen such a display of wealth before. But, in a remarkably short period of time, he found that the display of excess became boring, and even somewhat repellant.

Obi-Wan watched his Padawan intently, though discreetly, and noticed the exact moment when the appeal of the grandeur began to pall. He was gratified that it didn't take very long. With a gentle smile, he leaned over and murmured. "I told you it was going to be boring."

Anakin's eyes gleamed with repressed laughter. "Did you mean what you said? About doing something after this is over?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Barring the unexpected, I always mean what I say."

"What are you two plotting?" asked Sabé abruptly, from her spot directly across from Obi-Wan, a spot that had proven to be fortuitous from her point of view, as the floor-length drape of the tablecloth concealed a multitude of sins from casual eyes. It was slightly less fortuitous from Obi-Wan's standpoint, as he had been forced to suppress several startled responses to actions initiated by the handmaiden's bare foot. Although he had to admit that the warmth he so easily read in her eyes and the quite dexterous manipulations of her toes were far more entertaining than the droning of the speaker at the podium, the problem was that he was quite certain he would be totally unable to come to his feet when called upon to do so. He had finally resorted to grabbing the offending - if delightful - little foot with his left hand, and sending an unmistakable message by pinching the baby toe - hard.

Sabé's little smile said clearly that she was allowing him to take control of the situation, for the moment, but that the battle had barely begun.

"We're going to have some fun later," said Anakin brightly, completely missing the flare of panic in his Master's eyes.

"What kind of fun?" asked Amidala, leaning across Obi-Wan to address Anakin and managing, at the same time, to afford the Jedi a rather spectacular view of her cleavage. The young knight looked up and across the room as he heard another peal of laughter assault his mind.

"I haven't decided yet," replied Anakin, totally unaware of the currents and crosscurrents in motion around him. "Obi-Wan is letting me choose."

At the moment, Chancellor Palpatine rose and made his way to the podium, and Obi-Wan had never in his life been so glad to see a politician take the floor. For no matter how boring the speech might prove to be, the exalted position of the speaker would assure everyone's attention.

As it turned out, this one was neither boring nor lengthy.

"Friends and Colleagues. In the days to come, we will undoubtedly disagree on many issues." Palpatine's smile drew a friendly chuckle from his audience. "Some of our disagreements will undoubtedly deteriorate into shouting matches and name-calling. Such is the nature of our profession." The laughter grew louder. "However, in one tiny little compartment of our lives, there is no room for disagreement. For all of us within this room - and many more beyond it - owe our lives, our freedoms, our very existence, to the integrity and unselfishness of the Order of the Jedi. Tonight, prior to opening our round of discussions, we will distribute a few laurels, and, in some small way, make restitution for a miniscule portion of the massive debt owed to our knights in shining armor."

The vast hall was suddenly very still.

"My Friends," continued the Chancellor. "A few short weeks ago, a battle was waged on one of our member planets. My home planet, as it happens. A battle that, it now appears, will almost certainly have far-reaching repercussions for the Republic. In that battle, the forces of evil were defeated, through the efforts of an astonishingly brave young queen and her loyal attendants, through an alliance between the two dominant races of the planet, through the amazing actions of a young boy who is now in training in the Jedi temple, and through the ultimate sacrifice of one legendary Jedi knight - Master Qui-Gon Jinn."

The Chancellor turned his head to look at Obi-Wan Kenobi. "But Master Jinn, though joined now with the Force, did not truly leave us. For he left his legacy behind to continue to protect and defend us. The same legacy that ultimately defeated the evil presence on Naboo later saved the lives of countless children in the horrible tragedy of the Valorum Children's Museum. And inspired others to do the same."

"That, I believe, is as fine a legacy as any man could want. I have no doubt that Master Jinn's heart is filled with pride by the actions of his Padawan, now a full knight of the order, and a Master in his own right. When this young man was advised that the Republic wished to bestow a suitable award on him, to thank him for the valor of his actions, he replied that he felt compelled to refuse such an award, in the belief that the Jedi philosophy requires no such recognition, and representatives of my office agreed to accede to his wishes. However, I could not, in good conscience, accept his refusal. To fail to recognize such valor would be a gross miscarriage of my office. Therefore, it is my honor to present the Republic's highest badge of honor - the Star of Gallantry - to this noble young knight. My Friends, please welcome Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi."

With a soft sigh, and a rueful observation that he should have known better than to think his demurral would have been accepted as offered, Obi-Wan managed to rise and proceed to the podium, deliberately ignoring the running commentary coming at him in his thoughts, from a variety of sources. He stood rigidly to allow the Supreme Chancellor to pin the heavy, gem-crusted medal to his collar, barely managing not to flinch away from the warmth of the man's breath against his throat, as the applause rose to a deafening level, and he was forced to stand for several minutes waiting for it to diminish.

Palpatine, rather than reseating himself at the head table, had moved to a shadowy recess, behind the speaker's podium, as the young knight waited for the crowd to grow quiet. The overhead lighting in the hall had been arranged in such a way that a beam of golden radiance fell on the person at the podium, and Palpatine stood motionless and watched Kenobi hungrily, like a malia observing a succulent nerf calf. The shadows within the recess concealed his expression from any casual observer, and he was careful to maintain his shielding, but, by the gods, it was almost beyond even his power to suppress his desire. _The young Jedi's strength in the Force clung to him like a cloak of light, setting him ablaze against the dark auras around him. What fools these simple Jedi were! What a gift they held in their hands, and how little they realized it! And by the time they were ready to recognize that gift, it would be too late. For Obi-Wan Kenobi would, by then, belong to a new master - a dark master who would delight in tasting and devouring such overwhelming beauty, while investing it with the power of Darkness. Oh, yes. Kenobi would be his. And it had now become so primary to his purpose that he did not even acknowledge the possibility of failure - or contemplate any alternatives._

He was very still and focused, as the obsession grew.

Obi-Wan had not bothered to write a speech. The Jedi did not script their remarks. He simply spoke from the heart.

"I thank you for honoring my Master. He was a great Jedi knight. I hope someday to be half as good."

"And I thank you for this recognition. But I still feel that this honor is misdirected. I am a Jedi. If I require support or sustenance or reinforcement, it comes to me from the Force, and from other Jedi. And if I require more strength than my human body can provide, the Force provides it. This makes it possible for me to do things sometimes which I could not otherwise do. But it also means that I have resources available to me that non-Force users do not have. It means that I have protections available to me that allow me to take risks, without actually risking very much.

"This is not true, however, of those who spend their lives, risking much, in order to save lives and safeguard property. On the day of the Children's Museum catastrophe, I was struck speechless by the dedication and courage exhibited by members of the fire, police, and rescue teams. For every step I took - with my Jedi enhanced abilities - they were right there with me, risking so much more than I ever did. These are your true heroes; the ones who know that, if a burning ceiling collapses on them, there's no way they're going to be able to jump over it, or use the Force to toss it aside. Barring some very good luck, they're going to die, but they go right on and do the job anyway.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, these are the members of Coruscant Rescue Team Alpha 7. I ask you to greet them with the respect they have earned."

And the applause was thunderous as Captain Kacy Bandro, his first assistant Lt. Gargan Wee, and eight other members of their team stepped forward to accept the Republic's Medal of Valor.

Obi-Wan gratefully returned to his seat, thankful to be leaving the limelight.

Across the room, Rionne Aprelle regarded him with a tiny smile, as her Padawan, Kammian Tyra, heaved a huge sigh.

The Chal-Si Master turned to her apprentice with a questioning glance.

"He's just so . . ." said the girl.

"So?" Rionne struggled to suppress a grin.

"Beautiful," said the Cirsean finally, eyes aglow.

 _Kenobi_. Rionne sent out immediately, forcefully-determined to conceal her amusement.

 _What?_ Snappish, sharp.

_You can dazzle your little Naboo groupies all you want. And even your Temple fanatics. But leave my padawan alone._

This time, he wasn't quite successful in suppressing the groan, but whether that was due to his response to her goading, or to the insistent, exploratory little foot that kept venturing into what should definitely have been forbidden territory (in a public forum, anyway), Rionne could not tell. She was actually slightly sympathetic; the playful young handmaiden was really putting him in a tremendously awkward position, but one part of her insisted on pointing out that this was no more than appropriate justice for a young stud whose first judgment of her own value had been decided by the quality of her "ass".

On their way back to their own table, the Rescue Team stopped to exchange greetings with the Jedi, and the mountainous young firefighter, whose name was now revealed as Gargan Wee, favored Obi-Wan with a shame-faced grin. "You see why I didn't want to tell you my name?" he said shyly.

"Not at all," said Obi-Wan, trying, without much success, to hide a grin.

Gargan narrowed his eyes, and snickered. The snicker became a chuckle. And soon, the entire table was engulfed in gales of laughter, even though only Obi-Wan and the huge firefighter knew why. But, for whatever reason, it was infectious, and it even spread to surrounding tables.

Until Obi-Wan suddenly surged to his feet, lightsaber ignited and in hand, and pushed Amidala down in her chair.

"What . . ." Amidala started.

"Shut up!" said Obi-Wan, and lifted his voice to a near shout. "Garen, do you see it?"

""No, but it's definitely here - and close."

"Ramal?"

"Big," came the response from an area near the windows. "Everybody get down, on the floor. Right now!"

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin's voice was low, but remarkably steady.

"Ani, stay down," replied his Master. "You and Sabé need to keep the Queen down on the floor. She'll be safer." 

"Do you know what it is?"

"Not yet. Just stay down."

There was a scuffle at the main entrance of the huge hall, and Obi-Wan leapt up on the table to see what was happening.

"Kenobi," came the shout, along with a glimpse of a large, dark man struggling with the Senatorial guards.

"He's all right," shouted Obi-Wan. "Naboo security. Panaka, get over here, and get Amidala out of here."

"Where is it?" That was Rionne, thought Obi-Wan, sounding cool and self-possessed despite her obvious uncertainty.

The crash, when it came, caught them all slightly by surprise, because it didn't come from the doors or the windows, or any other obvious entrance. Instead, it rose straight up through the floor, tossing aside a number of tables, chairs, and diners as it erupted into the ballroom.

"Assassin droid," shouted Ramal, first to spy the ominous weapons array built into the matte black sphere.

"Plural," called Rionne, spotting another entering from the direction of the kitchen.

"Two more," yelled Obi-Wan, spinning as the first wave of blaster fire darted toward him from the two that had just crashed in from the terrace, his light saber moving faster than the eye could follow, to deflect the sizzling bolts.

"Obi-Wan," called Depa Billaba, engaging yet another new arrival, near the speaker's podium. "We need to move the guests together. Otherwise, they're going to get picked off, one by one."

It was Garen, however, who responded, by leaping to a table at the center of the room and directing waves of Force compulsion into the crowd. In a remarkably short period of time, all of the guests had packed themselves into a tight circle, with Jedi and security forces forming the perimeter.

Obi-Wan and Ramal found themselves side by side, and, without conscious communication, adopted a high-low, outside-inside rhythm that prevented anything from getting past them. After several minutes, as more and more of the droids surged into the room, Obi-Wan felt the Force tugging at his consciousness, trying to tell him something that was not yet evident.

"Umhmm," said Ramal, as he noted the far-away look growing in his companion's eyes. "I hear it too. Now what do you suppose . . ."

"That this is too easy?" suggested the younger knight.

"A distraction?" agreed Ramal.

"From what?"

"Now that is the real question, isn't it?"

Obi-Wan let his eyes glide freely over the room, looking for nothing, noting everything, allowing the Force to guide him. Abruptly, he stopped his perusal and focused on the head table.

"Ramal, what do you see at the Chancellor's seat?"

The Jedi Master spared a glance, just as he neatly bisected a droid coming in low. "Wine bottle, flowers, china, glasses, ice bucket, ice sculpture . . ."

"Bingo!"

"Ice sculpture?"

"It's the only one. Does that seem odd, or am I just out of step with interior décor?"

"Probably both. Watch your six."

The light saber slashed and flashed, almost of its own accord, and Obi-Wan renewed his inspection of the massive sculpture.

Suddenly, Rionne was in their midst. "Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?" she asked, neatly dispatching a smaller, attack droid that had been foolish enough to follow her in.

"Ladies are always welcome," said Ramal, with a leer.

Rionne flashed a smile at Obi-Wan. "Geez, he's as bad as you. So have we figured out what's going on yet? Because this, annoying as it may be, does not qualify as a major assault. My Padawan and yours could probably handle this, and eat breakfast at the same time."

Obi-Wan looked up and met Ramal's eyes. "You ready?"

Ramal nodded.

"Hold it," said Rionne. "Ready for what? What are you guys up to?"

And Obi-Wan winked at her. "You just hold the fort right here, Sweetheart."

 _Sweetheart?_ He winced slightly as he felt acid outrage pour over him. _Did you just call me Sweetheart, you little prick?_

But Obi-Wan was gone, along with Ramal Dyprio. Together they leapt across the open floor to land atop the head table, and headed toward the Chancellor's seat at the center. And, as they moved, every droid in the vast room, numbering about a dozen by this time, moved with them, firing steadily.

Later, Rionne would relive those moments, in open-mouthed wonder, but, at the time, it happened too quickly for her to marvel very much. For their parts, the other Jedi in the room, most of whom had known them both for many years and were familiar with their skills, simply stood and watched, wearing small, bemused smiles. The two knights moved with complete co-ordination, in a cadence and rhythm that was so perfect, it might have been choreographed. Of course, they knew, as did all the Jedi, that it wasn't really the two of them who were so perfectly in tune with each other, but rather the Force flowing through them that guided their movements, but to everyone else, it simply looked like magic. 

Droid after droid fell to the floor, gutted, eviscerated, nothing more than smoldering ruins. When the two finally reached their destination, the room had gone completely silent. One lone droid lingered near a terrace window, probably sending signals to whomever was directing the attack. Obi-Wan raised his hand, and it went crashing through the nearest wall, its functions scrambled and frozen.

Ramal knelt beside the towering sculpture, which depicted a large Corellian catling, crouched to spring.

"Uh oh!" said the elder Jedi softly.

"Uh oh?" Obi-Wan echoed. "Care to elaborate?"

"Bomb. Big one."

"Can you disarm it?"

"Maybe, but I think we should assume it's tamper proof."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we either get it the phreg out of here, or get ready to join the Force - in pieces."

"Can you see the timer?"

"Yes." 

"And?"

"You don't want to know."

"OK," Obi-Wan wasn't going to waste time or breath arguing. "How far away do we have to get it?"

"One hundred klicks should do it. I think it's just standard explosives, no nukes or anti-matter involved. But it'll have to be straight up."

Obi-Wan didn't even stop to question or to reason. "Longo," he shouted. "Are you here?"

The voice, responding from the kitchen area, wasn't exactly pleased to be paged in this manner.

"And if I say no?"

"Get your ship to the reception area, right now. Grappling arm extended."

Longo took off at a dead run, and if he was muttering to himself about crazy, suicidal Jedi every step of the way, nobody offered any argument.

Ramal looked up at Obi-Wan, with a muted smile. "No way to tell what the explosive agent is. If it's one of the nitro-class substances, one good jolt, and it's good night, sweet Jedi."

"I know," said Obi-Wan. "Why don't you go help the others clear the room?"

He turned and called over his shoulder, raising his voice slightly. "Everybody out," he said, using as much Jedi compulsion as he thought necessary. "As quickly - but quietly - as you can. Go! Now!"

When he turned back to the ice sculpture, Ramal Dyprio was still kneeling there. "I said . . ."

"I know what you said, Kid," replied Master Ramal, "but you don't rank me."

"Me either," said Rionne Aprelle, arriving at their side.

"Technically," drawled Reeft, walking up beside Garen, "you don't rank any of us."

But Obi-Wan had spied one face that he definitely did rank, and this one he was taking no chances with. "Anakin, if you're not out of this room in five seconds, I'm going to pick you up and carry you out. Understood?"

The boy's eyes were huge saucers, brimming with fear. "Obi-Wan, I . . ."

"Go, Ani," said the young Master, more gently. "I'll do my very best, but I need to know you're safe. Go take care of Padmé. Please."

"Yes, Master." The boy turned and walked away, but there was dejection and terror written in every line of his young body.

Obi-Wan looked down and met Rionne's eyes. "Please go take care of him, and your Padawan, as well. Please."

She leaned forward until he felt the tug of those incredible topaz eyes again, and whispered, "Why should you get to have all the fun?"

"Please," he repeated.

"Longo's just lifted off," called Master Billaba. "Five minutes." 

Obi-Wan nodded. "Master," he called, "it makes no sense for all of us to be put at risk. I can do this myself."

But Depa Billaba was pretty much immune to the mind push he was so accustomed to using on just about everyone, including other Jedi, though she smiled when she recognized it. "I don't think so, Obi-Wan. You need help with this one. Ramal, you stay with him. If the two of you together can't handle it, then Force help us all. The rest of you clear out. Now."

And they did, albeit reluctantly. Garen's face in particular was haunted as he turned away. He was getting really tired of leaving his best friend in potentially deadly situations.

Just before moving off, Rionne leaned forward, and brushed Obi-Wan's face with her fingertips. _You better come back. You better. Because you're going to pay for that 'sweetheart' remark. You hear me?_

"Nag, nag, nag," muttered Obi-Wan, and he heard the wordless growl that confirmed that she had heard him.

Ramal laughed. "What is it with you? You only feel alive when you're living dangerously?"

Obi-Wan just grinned, then closed his eyes and stretched out with the Force; he felt the power within him embrace the frigid surface of the sculpture, and sensed somehow, that using his eyes, in this instance, would be more hindrance than help.

"I'll guide you," said Dyprio, moving behind the young Master, and placing one hand on his shoulder. "And I'll balance you. But if I try to help you lift, I think we might over-balance it."

Obi-Wan just nodded, and started for the doorway, trusting Ramal to choose the smoothest, most accessible route for him. 

It was a breathless five minutes, for both of them. During their strange silent journey, they were, at least, relieved to see that the entire level appeared to be vacant. Everyone had descended to a lower floor, although both of them were fairly certain that, if the bomb went off now, or anywhere near the building, no lower floor would be far enough away.

On the receiving apron, Trex Longo was waiting, shuttle engines running, grappler ready.

Ramal Dyprio quickly inspected the grasping arm, then looked at the sculpture.

"I know," said Kenobi, barely above a whisper. "It won't hold it."

Longo shook his head. "Not without jostling the hell out of it to get a grip."

"Get me an enviro-suit," said Obi-Wan.

"Oh, no," said Longo. "This time you really have gone nuts. You can't ride outside the ship."

"Not outside. In the airlock."

"The inertia is going to reduce you to a pile of goo!"

"That's your job," replied the young Jedi. "You control the speed of the launch. Just hold it down until we get high enough."

"Kenobi," said Longo, frustration ringing in his voice, "nobody's ever done that. How many miracles do you think we have in us?"

"All I need right now," came the answer, "is one more."

"Get the suit," said Ramal.

"But. . ."

"I'll monitor him. All you have to do is exactly what I tell you."

It was a matter of moments for Obi-Wan to suit up - or rather, for Ramal and Longo to suit him up, for the young knight himself, could spare no part of his concentration for anything but maintaining perfect balance for the ice sculpture, which, was, by now, beginning to melt, and thus, becoming more and more difficult to hold.

"Hurry," murmured the young knight as they moved him toward the airlock.

When the shuttle lifted off, it was as subtle as a feather taking flight on a breath of wind. The engines whined briefly, but more from being reined in than from straining to gain altitude.

It rose skyward in near silence, leaving a breathless hush in its wake.

Exactly twelve minutes later, there was a blinding flash of scarlet and gold light directly overhead, so intense that it shorted out the massive Coruscant power grid for several seconds. The spectators who had crept from the protection of the building to witness the resolution of the problem stood motionless, gripped by uncertainty. Including the Jedi. Including one small boy whose eyes were blinded more by tears than by the light.

Rionne Aprelle looked down at Anakin, her face carved with worry. "Ani?" she said softy.

"I don't feel him," he whispered. "He's not there."

No one ventured an answer; no one knew what to say.

*** *** *** *** *** ***  
tbc


	12. Chapter 12

************* ******************* ****************

Chapter 12: "STEP INTO MY PARLOR"

The silence lingered, and warped into something other than what it had been. It became, somehow, the deadened hush of snowfall, or of the heart on hearing a stranger's footstep at the edge of darkness, or of the approaching shroud of death. In twos and threes, the inhabitants of the Chancellor's residence wandered out into the chill of night, their gazes fixed on the torn shreds of explosive brilliance above them. The silence, of course, was more in their minds than in reality, for Coruscant, after the briefest of pauses, resumed its customary frenetic activity. But for those who had witnessed the unfolding of this evening's drama, the hush extended itself deep into their collective consciousness, and suppressed not only their hearing but their urge to speak.

At a corner of the landing apron, a small boy knelt on a decorative, wrought iron bench, and fought for composure, even as he welcomed the silence - the silence that would allow him to listen for the one sound he longed to hear above all others. 

Behind him, Garen and Reeft stood motionless, their capes whipping around them as they sought to shelter the boy from the icy blast of the wind. Both had tried to talk to the padawan, to draw him inside, out of the cold, but he had ignored both their words and their urging, and he clung now to the back of the bench, fingers rigid and white as bone, as he tried to focus his thoughts. 

_Obi-Wan could hear me, even when I was unconscious. I should be able to hear him. Unless - unless - no, I won't believe that. Even if I'm not so good yet at using our link, I'd have felt it if he - if he . . . No, he didn't. I just have to be calm enough, and focused enough, to hear . . . to hear. . ._

Suddenly, Anakin's head shot up, his eyes wide and glassy.

"Anakin?" said Master Depa Billaba. 

"Shhh! Don't you hear it." And every Jedi within the sound of his voice was forced to conceal a smile in noting that a brand spanking new padawan had just shushed a member of the Jedi High Council. Even their concern over the fate of two of their own could not completely stifle that impulse.

"Hear what?" said Garen dully, his dark eyes so filled with painful shadows that he could barely see the child before him. 

Anakin made no attempt to answer; he simply stood and closed his eyes - and listened. And thus it was Anaken - the child whose intimate knowledge of machines and motors was as instinctive to him as breathing; Anakin - who, through hearing alone, could differentiate between the various types of servo-motors that powered different droid functions; Anakin - who could diagnose a mechanical problem by gauging the pitch of a motor's whine; Anakin - who raised his hands above his head in an expression of sheer jubilance as a dark shape descended through the night sky and came to rest on the landing pad.

Longo's shuttle was somewhat the worse for wear, its normally bright colors obscured now under a pall of oily soot; its running lights sparking only faintly. But its landing was textbook perfect, and the landing ramp was extending before its engine was fully disengaged.

And, of course, it was Anakin who was up that ramp before it had fully descended.

Less than two hours earlier, Obi-Wan Kenobi had entered the residence of the Supreme Chancellor in a dignified and elegant manner; his second entrance of the evening was decidedly less so.

Ramal Dyprio moved quickly down the ramp, the young knight upended over his shoulder, limp as a rag doll, bleeding and blackened, clothing torn and mangled and, in some cases, clinging to his lacerated body by nothing more than shreds.

"Get a healer," shouted Master Ramal.

"On their way," came Trex Longo's response from the cockpit. "Twenty minutes."

"Too long," said Anakin, grasping his Master's cold fingers.

The group gathered around the shuttle gave way before the influx of the Jedi, who, in turn, were displaced by a sudden surge in the crowd signaling the arrival of the Chancellor, who promptly demonstrated why he was the Supreme Chancellor, when others were not. He assumed command, to no one's surprise, but to the chagrin of certain Jedi elements. Garen, in particular, was not pleased by what he considered the Chancellor's presumption, but Rionne, by virtue of her finely developed diplomatic facility, was able to dissuade him from voicing his protest. If the Chancellor noted the young knight's obvious misgivings, he gave no indication.

"This way," he said firmly. "Of course, he cannot wait twenty minutes to be attended. My personal physician will see to him, and I have had quarters prepared. Bring him along, or shall I have them bring a stretcher?"

Ramal Dyprio, for the space of a single heartbeat, looked like he might actually defy the Chancellor, and carry his burden elsewhere, and it occurred to him later that he really had no reason for such an impulse; he just felt, somehow, that Obi-Wan should be removed from this place.

But the impulse, whatever caused it, was gone almost before he noticed it, and he dismissed it as perfectly understandable jitters about returning to the scene of the crime.

"No need, Sir. It'll only jostle him around more. I can carry him."

Palpatine walked at the Jedi Master's side, his presence serving to dissuade anyone from interfering with their passage.

"What happened?" he asked, as they walked into the private wing of the residence.

"It went off just a hair too early. Another ten seconds, and he'd have been clear. He was mostly shielded from the heat of the blast as he had made it back into the airlock, but the concussion wave caught him and bounced him around like a hockey puck."

"Is he. . . ." Palpatine seemed to be unable to form the words.

"No, I think he'll be fine. Except for having the headache to end all headaches. Being inside that metal enclosure when that device went off was probably a lot like being the gong of a bell - a monster of a bell."

"Vacuum damage?" asked the Chancellor, and Dyprio was surprised to note that Palpatine actually seemed to be holding his breath. Amazingly, this master politician appeared to have some kind of genuine concern for the young Jedi.

"No, we hauled him in right away. The suit was shredded, of course, but it held together long enough to spare him the worst of it. Probably got a nasty little nip of frostbite, but nothing the healers can't handle."

The Chancellor led the Jedi Master down a wide corridor and into a large luxurious chamber, which appeared to be some sort of sitting room. Palpatine gestured through an open archway on the right, to a chamber illuminated by soft, indirect lighting. "Just through there," he said. "The physicians should be waiting for him."

When Dyprio walked into the bedroom, he almost whistled in astonishment. For this was no ordinary room in which one would simply find respite for the night. In a room such as this, he thought, one could very probably spend a lifetime, and never tire of it. This was the pinnacle of luxury and wealth and self indulgence. And Dyprio suddenly knew that young Kenobi would not be comfortable in such a place. But, then again, he probably wasn't going to have any idea where he was, until tomorrow at the earliest. So it didn't really matter.

"Put him there," directed Palpatine. "On the bed."

As the Jedi Master deposited his burden on the silken surface of a canopied and draped monstrosity large enough to accommodate a half-dozen men, Obi-Wan groaned softly.

"Master?" 

Somehow, no one had noticed that Anakin had never relinquished his hold on Obi-Wan's hand. The Chancellor, for some reason, did not appear pleased.

Remarkably, and to the surprise of everyone present, there came a whispered response. "Ani?"

It is entirely debatable whether or not anything might have deterred the extremely determined advance of Anakin Skywalker at that moment, but, at any rate, no one really tried, and, with a leap and twist worthy of a Jedi Master, the apprentice was suddenly nestled in the young Master's arms.

"Thought I lost you," mumbled the child, face buried.

"Not . . ." The young knight slipped back into unconsciousness before he could formulate a full response, but his fingers entwined gently in the boy's padawan braid.

"Young Skywalker," said the Supreme Chancellor silkily, "I know you wish only to be with your Master, but the physicians must be free to work on him, to insure his recovery. Now you wouldn't want to interfere with that, would you?"

"N-n-o." Muffled. Face still buried.

"Of course you wouldn't. And I have an idea it won't take very long. So please, will you go with Master Dyprio, and allow these good people to tend his wounds. I promise, you'll be allowed to see him the instant they are done."

With obvious reluctance, Anakin disengaged himself from Obi-Wan's grasp, and slid off the high bed. For a moment, Master Dyprio stood in silent contemplation, just studying Kenobi's features. He then looked up and met the eyes of the Supreme Chancellor.

Palpatine had not risen to his current positions - both public and private - without knowing how to evaluate opponents and manipulate circumstances. "Our debts to him are incalculable. You may rest assured he will receive the finest care."

Dyprio hesitated briefly, causing a brief flicker of alarm in the depths of Palpatine's consciousness, before nodding his agreement. "All you have to do is keep him stable," he murmured. "Jedi healers will be here soon."

The Chancellor suppressed a burst of rage that rose within him; blasted, interfering Jedi busy-bodies. But nothing of his inner turmoil reached the surface of his mind. He would have his way tonight, in this as in so many other ways. And the fools would never realize how perfectly they played into his hands, until it was too late, of course.

When Dyprio and the boy departed, Palpatine moved to the bedside, as the medical team went to work on the young Jedi. And, in this particular area at least, he had not lied; these were, indeed, his own personal physicians and medical attendants. Obi-Wan Kenobi would have the very finest care that wealth and power could provide.

"Get those rags off him. They demean him," he directed a young nurse as she began to cleanse the cuts on Kenobi's hands. Something in the Chancellor's voice made her look up and peer at him as if to question his instructions. But, in the end, the habits of a lifetime of servility prevailed, and she did as she was told, using surgical sheers to cut away the shreds of his clothing.

Palpatine moved back then, away from the bed, away from prying eyes, and into a shadowy seating area. From this vantage point, he was able to watch every movement, see every action, monitor every process performed on Obi-Wan's body, without anyone being able to see him as anything other than a darker shadow in the gloom. He was, however, forced to monitor his breathing very carefully.

"Dr. Farasime, how is he?" he asked finally, as the elderly physician checked the result of a bioscan.

"Concussed," came the concise reply. "Mildly frostbitten, lacerated, and contused. He's also managed to refracture a couple of ribs, and burst one eardrum, possibly due to decompression when the suit was compromised."

"But he will be all right?"

Farasime, who, because he was very, very good at his chosen profession could afford to be very, very outspoken, even among his very powerful patients, turned a critical eye toward the Chancellor. "Really, Sir! He's a Jedi. You know how hard they are to kill."

The Chancellor moved out into the room, measuring his next words carefully. "Even among the Jedi, this young man is exceptional. He has proven himself to be an extraordinary example of Jedi skills." He lowered his voice, and, by so doing, drew the physician into the circle of his confidence - a very flattering place for anyone to be, given Palpatine's stature. "I have great need to speak with him, in strictest confidence. Without anyone even knowing we have spoken. I would greatly appreciate it if you could - shall we say - influence the Jedi healers to allow him to stay here for the night."

Farasime, who was not nearly so independent or immune to manipulation as he liked to believe, agreed immediately. "Of course. Can't see how they could possibly object to that. I mean, it's not as if you were keeping him in the dungeon, now is it?"

Palpatine laughed and amused himself by picturing how easily he could sever this buffoon's head from his shoulders. Ah, well. The buffoon was, after all, an adequate physician, if one ever had need for such, which, of course, the Sith did not.

"You have my thanks, Doctor," he said smoothly, and he walked back to the bedside, where he allowed himself only the briefest sweep of his eyes over the elegant lines and angles of Kenobi's nude body.

He moved away abruptly; it would not do to allow anyone to have cause to speculate over even the mildest suggestion of prurient interest in the young Jedi.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

"Where is he?"

"He's being attended to."

"Where is he?"

"Mirilent, they're taking good care of him."

 _"Where_ is he?"

If Mace Windu had been capable of displaying a blush, he would have been rose red by this time. "You are not going to insult the medical staff of the Supreme Chancellor," he said through gritted teeth, leaning over to gaze directly into her face.

But the fire within the tiny Healer's eyes did not so much as flicker. "If you don't take me to him - _right now_ \- I'm going to insult a lot more than that. And then I'm going to find him on my own."

Into this confrontation, Ramal Dyprio strolled, completely unphased. "Come on, Healer," he said with a grin. "I'll take you to him."

"And _you_ ," Mirilent practically spat as she turned to follow the swarthy Jedi, "how could you let some Force-blind quack work on him?"

"I really didn't have much choice, Hon," he replied.

"You had one big choice," she retorted. "Why didn't you and Longo bring him back to the Temple?"

But Dyprio only smiled. "In case you missed it, Love, we were in a bit of an explosion. Lost most of the steering and maneuvering controls. The best we could do was retrace our steps and hope for the best. This was it."

Mirilent's response was an inarticulate mutter.

"Healer Soljan," cried a young voice, edged with desperation.

Mirilent didn't even slow down, but her response was right on target. "Patience, Anakin. I'll call you the second you can see him."

"But . . ."

"No buts. I can feel him in the Force, Ani. He's going to be fine. Now you just sit down, and let me clean up this mess."

In a tiny little vestibule, offset from the corridor leading to Obi-Wan's temporary domicile, Garen, Reeft, Rionne, and Kammian waited, with vacant faces and hollow eyes, each lost in his or her own maunderings.

Garen looked up as the healer passed by. "Can you really, Mirilent?"

The Bimar actually hesitated as she looked into the young knight's face. "My stars, Child, you look worse than he probably does. Are you all right?"

Garen's eyes were haunted. "Just wondering how many times a man can cheat fate, before it catches up with him."

Before she bustled on her way, she took the time to reach out and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Just you never mind, young one. He learned about cheating fate from the Master Fate Cheater of All-Time. Qui-Gon Jinn was the best I ever saw - maybe the best there ever was - and he taught our Obi everything he knew."

Garen nodded, but the shadows remained fixed in his eyes. "I know, but he still died. Didn't he?"

Mirilent's expression announced loudly that she preferred not to think about that - not right now, anyway.

"Garen," said Rionne gently, "it appears he's going to be fine. Why don't we . . ."

Surprisingly, as she laid a hand on his arm, he pulled away from her and raced down the corridor, out into the night.

"I don't like the look of that," said Reeft. 

Mirilent stood motionless, looking after the young knight. Finally, she turned and peered into Rionne's eyes. "Go after him," she said, in a tone that brooked no resistance. "He sees something - or knows something - he doesn't like. We need to know what."

Rionne just nodded, motioned her Padawan to remain where she was, and hurried to find Garen.

Which turned out to be no small task. When she finally spotted him, leaning against a landing strut on a diplomatic shuttle, he was almost completely closed off from the Force, his shields rock solid and seamless. She stood for a moment, just watching him, before he noticed her approach, and what she saw caused a frigid shiver to rise within her. He stood looking out over the complex chaos of Coruscant, but it was obvious that what he saw had nothing to do with what lay before him.

"Garen," she called softly, approaching slowly.

For several breathless seconds, he seemed lost to her - lost to everything. When he began to speak, he still did not look at her. "Something is coming for him, Ri. Something dark and hungry. He just goes on taking risk after risk - thinking he's indestructible. He's not, and something knows it."

She didn't argue with him; the Force concealed - or revealed - as it saw fit, and it was never really wrong. It was, however, subject to interpretation and change.

She reached up and put her arms around his neck, and pulled his head down to her shoulder. "Then I guess we just better do something about it," she said softly. 

But Garen would not be comforted. "You don't understand," he replied, once more turning to look out into the darkness. "There's nothing that you or I or anyone else can do. Only he can do something about it. Only he can make the choice."

"What choice?" she asked, confused by his certainty.

But he only shook his head. "I don't know."

"Well, at least we can warn him," she continued. "So he can be ready for whatever it is."

But Garen only turned to stare at her with dark, haunted eyes. "We don't have to warn him, Ri. That's probably the only thing that I am really sure of. He knows. Better than I do. He knows."

*** *** *** *** ***

"Obi-Wan." The voice was very far away, in time and space.

"Come on, Hero. Wake up for me. Talk to me."

The bed was very warm and very soft and very seductive. And he really didn't think he wanted to find out what was going on outside this wonderful, soft, warm womb in which he was floating.

"Obi-Wan, if I have to come in there after you, it won't be pleasant. Wake up. Now."

Another voice intruded on the lovely silence. Masculine. Cultured. Somehow - not quite as pleasing as it should have been (and only the Force knew what the phreg that meant - because he sure didn't.)

"Is this normal? Shouldn't he be awake by now?"

"Please, Chancellor, you go and get yourself rattled around inside a giant tin can in a shredded vac suit, and see how fast you regain consciousness. He's fine. Trust me. I know this body better than I know my own. Obi-Wan! Wake up now!" This last was projected as a screech guaranteed to disturb the slumber of the dead.

The young Jedi drew a deep breath. "Mira." Very soft. Barely above a whisper. "How I love to wake up to your dulcet tones."

"Insult me all you want, Love. Just let me see the baby blues."

Gold-tipped lashes stirred, lifted fractionally, then closed again. "Too bright."

"Move that light globe," snapped the cultured masculine voice. "Immediately."

Mirilent stared at the Supreme Chancellor with narrowed eyes. "A little light won't kill him, you know. He just likes getting his way."

"No reason he shouldn't, is there?" said Palpatine, as a nurse assistant moved the offending lamp.

"Humph. OK, Obi. Try it again."

Obi-Wan was enjoying a curious sensation; it felt rather like being immersed in clouds which were somehow firm enough to hold him in place, while remaining soft enough to barely impact against his bare skin. Bare skin. Bare skin? Why was his skin bare? He wasn't in the healers' wing; there had never been a treatment bed that felt like this. So where was he, and why was his skin bare?

Abruptly, he opened his eyes, and looked up directly into the face of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. Obi-Wan gasped and attempted to recoil; only there was no place to recoil to, as he was already flat on his back. In a less reactive moment, he probably would have conceded that Chancellor Palpatine was not really repulsive-looking - physically - if you were inclined in that direction (which he wasn't), but his countenance was hardly what one expected to see on first awakening.

The Chancellor chuckled. "So sorry, Dear boy. I didn't mean to startle you."

"What . . .? Where . . ."

"Hush, now," said Mirilent, turning his face toward her and peering into his eyes. "You're in a room in the Chancellor's residence, and you're going to be just fine. Given a few hours of rest. After everything you've put yourself through in the last month or two, this was just a walk in the park."

As he twisted slightly, he gasped at the knife thrust that seemed to rip through his chest. "Some park," he muttered.

"Just let that be a lesson to you," she said smoothly. "You really are OK, but you need a little time to mend. Chancellor Palpatine's medical staff took very good care of you - for non Force-users, that is. At least they applied bacta patches where they were needed, and reapplied a bone-knitter to your ribs. By tomorrow, you'll be back on your feet. But for tonight, you rest."

She stood up and let her eyes sweep around the luxury suite in which he was ensconced. "All in all," she said, with a smile, "a pretty plush assignment. Are you ready for your audience?"

"My audience?" His voice was almost frail, without inflection.

"Friends, acquaintances, masters, queens, bodyguards . . .and one very, very anxious Padawan."

Obi-Wan's smile was gentle. "Well, I'm ready for him, at least."

"If I may," said the Chancellor, "might I suggest that you allow your friends to step in for just a moment - to assure themselves of your recovery - then send them on their way, so that you and your Padawan can get some rest. He is more than welcome to stay here, with you."

"I'm staying here?" The young Jedi couldn't quite conceal the flare of alarm in his azure eyes.

"Just for tonight," replied Mirilent. "I've already set up monitors to feed your vitals to my sensors at the Temple - just in case - but you should be just fine. And it really would be best not to move you for the next few hours unless it's absolutely necessary." Again, she eyed the splendor of the suite. "I don't think you're going to convince anybody that staying here constitutes a hardship."

"Mira?"

"Yes?"

"Where are my clothes?"

"Oh, Sorry about that," replied Palpatine. "I'm afraid there wasn't much left. If you like, I can have a staff member provide something for you to sleep in."

Obi-Wan, for some reason, didn't think he wanted to sleep in anything that belonged to someone on the Chancellor's staff. He knew most of the staffers, by sight at the very least, and found most of them oily and sycophantic, and slightly sleazy. All in all, he thought he'd just wait for someone to bring him his own clothing.

"My lightsaber? My birthday stone?"

"All safe, in the drawer by the bed. Rest easy."

There was a semi-soft knock at the door, and Mira smiled. "Your adoring public awaits. Or, at least, your adoring Padawan." She leaned close and whispered, for his hearing only. "It's almost a sin how much that child adores you. You might want to stop and consider that the next time you think about going out and throwing yourself on a live grenade."

"That's not what I did," he retorted.

"Isn't it? Coulda fooled me."

As Palpatine moved to open the door, Obi-Wan stared up at the diminutive Healer. "Are you saying I'm suicidal?"

She reached out and smoothed his hair. "I don't know, my Obi, but you're beginning to scare me. Luck runs out, you know. Sooner or later."

With that, she dropped a kiss on his forehead, covered him with soft, plush blankets, and then quickly moved aside to avoid being bowled over by a Padawan projectile who, despite hitting the bed like a runaway missile, managed to avoid plowing into his still semi-fragile Master.

"Hey, Kid," breathed Obi-Wan, trying not to favor his wounded ribs too obviously, as Anakin settled in beside him.

And the sizeable bedchamber was suddenly not so vast any more as it was abruptly rife with Jedi, of every size and description. In the forefront of the group, Rionne Aprelle and her Padawan, Kammian, came to stand at the foot of his bed, where the Master reached out and tapped the foot that he had worked out from under his blankets. "Welcome back, 'Sweetheart'," she said, with a slightly venal grin. The Padawan, on the other hand, gazed at him with crystalline eyes that invited him to take a swim. With great difficulty, Obi-Wan reminded himself again - "she's just a kid" - and turned to see Garen and Reeft standing at his bedside.

Reeft, awkward and gangly as always, just touched his fist to Obi-Wan's chin - probably a little harder than he meant to - to cover the fact that he didn't know, indeed had never known, exactly how to express his concern. Garen, on the other hand, stood motionless, looking first at his friend's hands, then his arms, then his chest, but never quite meeting his eyes.

"Garen?" Obi-Wan said softly. 

Eyes so dark no pupil was discernible finally met and held those of tropical sea blue. "You okay, Obi?"

Obi-Wan nodded. 

"This time, anyway." Something in Garen's tone made Obi-Wan stare at him more sharply than usual, and, perhaps, see more than he usually saw.

"Something wrong, Gar?"

"Oh, no, nothing. Nothing beyond the ordinary."

"Meaning?" Obi-Wan had no problem identifying the underlying emotion in Garen's clipped words. It was anger, and it was intense.

Abruptly, Garen surged forward and leaned over the bed, bracing Obi-Wan between rigid arms. "Meaning you didn't quite pull it off this time. Better luck, next."

"What . . ."

"You _know_ what." The words were hurled like stones. "If you keep on like this, sooner or later, it will happen. Is that what you want? What you really want? Because - if it is - well, hell, I can just take care of it for you right now. Why bother with getting yourself blown up, or buried, or skewered by a Sith, or devoured by a spider? Let's just do it the simple way - a lightsaber through the heart. Fast, virtually painless, and invariably fatal."

"Garen?"

"What?" Sharp. Barked rather than spoken.

"Get the phreg out of my face, and calm down. I am _not_ trying to kill myself."

Garen drew a deep, ragged breath, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," said Obi-Wan, with a small smile. "I think I'd know."

Garen regarded him solemnly. "But something is still wrong. Isn't it?"

Obi-Wan was the one to look away, this time. "Maybe. If I knew, for sure, I'd tell you. And, if I find out for sure, I _will_ tell you. But, for now, cut this out. You're scaring my Padawan, and I don't let anyone scare my Padawan."

Garen spied the mischief gleaming deep in his friend's eyes, and could not prevent a grin. "Bastard," he breathed, for no one's hearing but Obi-Wan's. "You scared the life out of me."

"Yeah, me too. Next time, you get to wrestle with the bomb."

"Oh, yeah, right. The draigonslayer is just going to sit back, and watch. I'm going to hold my breath for that!"

Obi-Wan's smile was genuine, if slightly weary. "Sarcasm is so unbecoming to a Jedi."

There was more confusion in the ever growing crowd, and the two young knights, even though they occupied a place of honor due to their close relationship with the patient, were suddenly displaced - by sheer size, if nothing else, as Mace Windu, Trex Longo, and Ramal Dyprio arrived at the bedside.

Though Windu launched into a mini-speech, composed of those pithy comments that Obi-Wan and his friends had long ago dubbed "Jedi-isms", neither Longo, nor Dyprio had much to say, and seemed only to want to reassure themselves that young Kenobi, was, as promised, on the mend. As they turned to depart, however, Obi-Wan reached out and grabbed Dyprio's wrist.

When the swarthy Jedi Master looked down at him with a question in his near-black eyes, Obi-Wan smiled. "I wish you and my Master had known each other at this stage of your life. I think you would have grown to be very good friends."

Dyprio shook his head slightly, grinning broadly. "Probably not," he replied. "He was always a little too pure for my tastes. But I will give him one thing."

"What's that?"

Dyprio reached for the young Jedi's hand and gripped it firmly. "He raised a hell of a padawan."

A stir at the doorway of the suite announced more new arrivals. The Queen of Naboo and several members of her entourage swept into the bedroom, and Amidala knelt at the edge of the bed.

"Are you all right?" she asked, eyes huge and dark and agleam with unshed tears.

"I'm fine," he assured her, and shot a wink at Sabé, who was standing behind her queen. He opened one hand to grasp the queen's cold fingers, while extending the other to the handmaiden. Sabé did not speak, but the warmth in her eyes as she took his hand spoke volumes.

Anakin spoke up for the first time since he had insinuated himself at his Master's side. "I'm going to take care of him, your Highness. He'll be fine."

Amidala smiled and stroked the boy's cheek gently. "Weren't you two supposed to have some fun tonight- together?"

"We'll have plenty of time for that, later," said Anakin, nestling closer to Obi-Wan's side.

"All right!" came a surprisingly stentorian roar, from a surprisingly miniscule source. Mirilent Soljan stood in their midst, and backed them all down, by dint of sheer force of personality. "He needs to rest. You've all seen him; you'll see him again tomorrow. Right now, you need to get out, and he needs to sleep."

For a moment, no one moved.

"I meant _now_!" she said ominously, and no one within the confines of that room, up to and including the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, really wanted to go head-to-head with her in an argument.

Within sixty seconds, the room was deserted, except for one slightly mangled Jedi Master, one rapidly drooping Padawan, and one senior official of the most powerful government in the galaxy.

Palpatine took a tiny moment to gaze at his guests as they talked softly to each other, as he lingered under the guise of adjusting temperature controls and draperies.

Finally, he turned to face them. "Please excuse me if I'm being presumptuous," he said with a smile, "but I couldn't help but overhear the young Queen's remark, about having fun. I wonder. . ."

"What?" said Anakin, noting a speculative note in the politician's tone.

"Do you, by any chance, like frozen caroba crem, young Skywalker?"

"Caroba crem?" Anakin's glance at his Master was uncertain.

"Yes. Frozen. I, myself, confess a certain fondness for it. What about you, young Jedi?"

Obi-Wan grinned and nodded.

"Well?" said Palpatine. "What do you think? Would you like a scoop - or two or three?"

Anakin mumbled something, eyes downcast.

"Speak up, Ani," said Obi-Wan softly. "Don't mumble."

The Padawan raised his head and stared at the Chancellor with defiant eyes. "I said, I don't know what caroba crem is."

Palpatine glanced at the young Master, and was almost staggered by the fierce protectiveness he read in those azure eyes. He required no Jedi - or Sith - skills to understand that any detrimental remark concerning the boy's ignorance would be ill-advised. By the gods, this young knight's power in the Force was breath-taking, and seductive almost beyond resisting.

Palpatine dropped his hand on the boy's shoulder and smiled. "Come with me, Young One. And get ready for a feast for the eyes and palate. Dark caroba, young Jedi?"

Obi-Wan nodded, with a smile. "How did you know?"

The Chancellor responded in kind. "You simply impress me as a man who likes his sweets rich and dark."

Young Kenobi nodded and never noticed the double entendre of Palpatine's remark.

As the Chancellor led the boy out into the corridor, he kept up a running commentary. "I do believe that we might just find a way to have our own kind of fun this evening. An evening we can all enjoy, and remember for a very long time."

*** *** *** *** *** ***

He was lying in a shaft of golden light that seemed to pool around him, tinting his hair and those incredibly long eyelashes - so superfluous on a Jedi knight, but so exotically intriguing, nonetheless - a dark coppery hue. The light seemed to polish and soften the lines and angles of his face and body, and lend his skin a patina like fine pearl. He had turned in his sleep to lie on his belly, one arm dangling off the bed, and the blankets covering him had either slipped down around his body, or been tossed back as he sought the most comfortable position in which to sleep. They were tangled now around his waist leaving his upper body bare and gleaming. That he was completely nude beneath the bedcovers was obvious, as the swell of his hips was clear against the dark silk of the sheets.

On the far side of the bed, sprawled in the innocence of a child's surrender to slumber, Anakin Skywalker snored slightly, one hand solidly gripping his Master's arm. Sending the boy into a deep, Force-enhanced sleep, and keeping him there, was a matter of minute effort for Darth Sidious, who stood now gazing down at the object of his obsession. Just as simple had been the Force manipulation required to send the guards in the corridor into a stupor, and then to erect impenetrable shields around the Jedi's quarters. For some moments after entering the chamber, the dark lord had studied the Padawan, and found, to his amazement, that Qui-Gon Jinn's assessment of the child's latent ability had probably been quite accurate; his potential power in the Force was staggering. However, for the Sith's purposes, the key word was 'potential'. It would be years before the boy's abilities could be channeled and developed, and, in the meantime, a much more readily available power source was now tantalizingly close, a luscious temptation poised within easy reach of the dark lord's incredible power.

Sidious was forced to guard his own reactions constantly; to monitor his own breathing and resist his most intense impulses as he reveled in the sheer intoxication of standing here, in this magnificent room, with the object of his desire so completely within his grasp.

He stood for hours, memorizing Kenobi's every feature, every inch of his body, every minute facet of his skin. He traced the Jedi's face with phantom Force fingers, caressing the cleft of his chin, the fine curvature of his lips, the plane of his cheekbones, the spiky ginger hair that was beginning to grow out. He memorized the sound of his breathing; the way he kept one foot free of the covers on the bed, no matter what position he was in; the way he burrowed his face into the pillow whenever his sleep was disturbed.

But Obi-Wan did not waken; could not waken.

At this proximity, the young knight's sub-conscious was open and available to one with the skill of the Sith lord. Such vulnerability was almost unbearably exciting for Sidious, and when he succeeded in bringing the young knight to a state of physical arousal, it was almost beyond his capacity to resist achieving his own gratification. But, in the end, he did resist, even though he was almost certain that he would have been able to erase all memory of his actions in such a controlled environment. Still, it was a risk, albeit a small one. And he was not willing to take risks, at this stage of his little game. The rewards for completing the game, and winning it all, were simply too great. Prudence, as always, must dictate his actions.

So he contented himself, finally, with populating the young knight's dreams with visions of depraved pleasures and dark passions which the Jedi would certainly never have experienced before, but which, given the proper stimulus, might sprout and grow within the fertile ground of his sub-conscious, and eventually, blossom and bear succulent fruit.

As dawn began to spread grasping fingers across the panoply of night, the dark lord knew he must soon make his exit, and prepare to meet a new day as the oh-so-respectable, oh-so-dignified Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. But, for just this one moment, he leaned over and allowed himself only the barest touch - one brushed kiss, one tiny bite on the side of the young Jedi's throat. One little mark that none would notice, among all the others he had recently acquired.

Obi-Wan moaned softly, and shuddered in his sleep.

One mark, thought Sidious, eyes blazing with desire, to brand his dark angel.

********** **********

tbc


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Storm Warnings 

*

As darkness fled before the swell of morning, Obi-Wan Kenobi ascended through phases of slumber, knowing, somehow, that he was sleeping and that he was in the process of awakening, yet still in the grasp of dreams. He knew he had slept soundly, undisturbed by external interruptions, and the substance of his dreams was lost in deep distorted images; yet, somehow, even in that alien moonscape that exists only in the gray area between sleep and waking, he felt soiled and corrupted, as if he had been wallowing in filth and degradation. He was glad to be returning to reality.

 _But not just yet, Jedi._ By the gods, he was really beginning to hate that voice. _You must first take a little detour, into your destiny._

In the real, waking world, Obi-Wan moaned softly, fighting to achieve consciousness. But the voice would not be ignored.

_"Behold."_

_At first, it wasn't too alarming. He saw the Jedi Temple, and, although it appeared somewhat distorted and darkened, it did not appear substantially altered from the Temple he knew so well._

"Look again."

_There were deep shadows everywhere, as if all windows had been covered over and all lightsources extinguished, and the sound of his footsteps - dream footsteps in dream corridors - was loud and echoing._

_He walked around a corner and stopped, and somehow fell to his knees, without even realizing when or how he had done so. Before him, the corridor was lined with bodies . . . dead bodies, torn, mangled, some dismembered, some cleaved in half and cauterized by one swing of a light saber. Lifeless, limp, but all with open, staring eyes; eyes that swiveled to focus on him. Dead eyes, but eyes that still saw too much._

_Reeft, throat gashed and virtually torn away; Master Adi Gallia, her chest a smoking, mangled ruin; Varqa Soljan, slashed and dismembered. And there before him - Rionne, eviscerated and charred, her glorious sweep of red hair matted with blood, a tiny child clasped tight in her arms, its head a battered ruin. Obi-Wan fought his way to his feet, and turned away from the carnage, only to encounter more of the same behind him. Draped across a metal sculpture was the body of Ramal Dyprio, his skin gray and lifeless, as his lifeblood drained into the small basin surrounding the statue. Beyond him, looking somehow neither as large nor as imposing as in life, lay the bludgeoned, distorted body of Mace Windu._

_And they all continued to stare at him. no matter which way he turned._

_"Padawan."_

Oh, Force, no. Any voice but that one. Please.

_"Padawan, they all died for you."_

_"Master, please don't."_

_The pale specter of Qui-Gon Jinn appeared to be disturbed by Obi-Wan's words. "I cannot lie to you, Padawan. Surely you know that."_

_"But I didn't. . . ."_

_The Master held up a ghostly hand, and Obi-Wan fell silent immediately._

_"You didn't mean to?" sighed Qui-Gon. "That's what you wanted to say, isn't it?"_

_Obi-Wan nodded._

_"And do noble intentions absolve you of the consequences of your actions?"_

_Obi-Wan slipped to his knees again, and buried his face in his hands. "No, Master."_

_Qui-Gon nodded. "You have learned your lessons well, my Padawan. Now what will you do about it?"_

_The young knight merely shook his head. "I don't know what to do, Master. I need help."_

_There came the sound of soft laughter, that was more an echo of Qui-Gon's signature chuckle, than the actual original. "Of course you do, young Padawan. And have I not always helped you? Soon, I will help you again. I will show you the way. Will you allow me to guide you?"_

_Obi-Wan drew a deep, shaky breath, and managed to suppress the alarm that was ringing somewhere in the back of his mind - the one that suggested that Qui-Gon Jinn would never resort to such blatant tactics in teaching his Padawan a lesson - and reply softly. "Of course, Master. I will do as you say."_

_"Excellent, my Padawan." The young Jedi felt the faintest touch of a kiss on his forehead. "My lovely, innocent, young Padawan. All will soon be well."_

_And there again was the echo of that laughter, that was almost what it purported to be - almost, but not quite._

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Obi-Wan woke with a deep gasping breath, simultaneously reaching for the lightsaber that was, of course, not where he expected it to be, since he was completely nude.

And the grinning young man who had been tickling his upper lip with a feather had reason to be grateful that the lightsaber in question was tucked safely into a bedside drawer, where it could not simply fly into the young knight's outstretched hand.

"Whoa, there, Friend!" exclaimed Reeft. "Is that how you greet your wake-up callers? Cause, if it is, no wonder you don't have a girlfriend."

Obi-Wan yawned, winked at his still semi-sleeping Padawan, and sent his scrawny tormentor flying with a Force push. "Look who's talking."

Garen was standing at the end of the bed, studying Obi-Wan's features. "You look like bantha fodder, Chum," he said softly. "Rough night?"

Obi-Wan swung his legs over the side of the mattress and was momentarily amazed when he realized that the height of the bed left plenty of room for him to swing his feet if he so desired. "Wow."

"Some bed, huh," murmured Anakin. "The Chancellor mentioned that it was a royal bed that once belonged to the king of - somewhere or other. I forget where."

A commotion at the doorway heralded the arrival of Rionne Aprelle and her apprentice, who arrived at bedside just as Obi-Wan managed to wrap a sheet around his waist, sarong style.

"Charming, Kenobi," remarked Rionne, with a bold sweep of her eyes.

"Don't you people ever knock?" he asked, mildly annoyed. "And did anybody bring my clothes?"

Garen dropped a bundle at the foot of the bed, all beige and Jedi brown, and Obi-Wan allowed a sigh of relief.

"You still look like crap," said Garen. "Sleep well?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Strange night. I don't think I woke up - not once - but it feels like I ran a marathon, or something."

"Well," said Rionne, "no rest for the weary, I'm afraid. You impressed the Chancellor so much - with your heroism . . ." She batted her eyes and managed to produce a deep, heartfelt sigh - almost, "that he's decided he wants you in charge of security for the summit conference."

Obi-Wan managed - barely - not to groan. "I thought they'd probably cancel it."

"No such luck," said Garen. "Although they have made some substantial changes."

Obi-Wan sat with his leggings in his hand and looked up at Rionne, without expression. She, on the other hand, was grinning broadly. "Do you mind?" he asked finally, once he realized that she wasn't going to avert her eyes voluntarily.

The female Master exchanged smiles with her lovely young Padawan. "A modest hero. Be still, my heart."

Obi-Wan huffed. "Just turn around. OK?"

"Speak of the devil," said Reeft, not bothering with any show of discretion, as the Supreme Chancellor came strolling into the bedroom.

Obi-Wan, caught with one leg in and one leg out of his leggings, rolled his eyes dramatically. "Doesn't anybody ever knock around here?"

Palpatine was smiling broadly. "Do forgive the interruption, young Kenobi, but I thought we might combine our security meeting with a bite of breakfast. Unless my memory has failed me entirely, you have a weakness for muja juice - and jaffa. Correct?"

Obi-Wan hastily finished putting his pants on and stood, bare-chested, to face the Chancellor. "Now how in the world did you know that?"

Palpatine's smile became slightly smug. "Oh, I have my ways. The servants are laying out breakfast on the terrace, for all of you, of course. Please join me, at your convenience."

The group of young Jedi waited until the Chancellor made his exit before turning to look at Obi-Wan. It was the irrepressible Reeft who voiced what they were all thinking. "Breakfast on the terrace, Master Obi-Wan, with the butler undoubtedly waiting to buttle, while you have your tea and crumpets - pinky finger extended, of course."

"Reeft?"

"Yes?"

"Phreg off."

Reeft quickly clapped his hands over Anakin's ears. "Master Obi-Wan! Please. Not in front of the little tyke."

Obi-Wan burst out laughing. "The 'little tyke' could probably give you lessons in swearing."

Anakin, at this point, was beaming at his Master, and nodding. But Obi-Wan leaned forward and whispered in the boy's ear. "Which doesn't mean you have permission to do so."

Anakin looked up at his Master, mischief gleaming in his blue eyes. "More 'do as I say, not as I do', huh, Master?"

Obi-Wan ruffled his hair. "You catch on quick, Kiddo. Now, are you hungry?"

Which was equivalent, of course, to asking Master Yoda if he liked riddles.

However, the young Master, as it happened, had one last hurdle to cross before making his way to breakfast. Gragg Runoz chose that moment to come tearing through the doorway, red-faced, sweaty, and obviously stressed out. "Hold it right there," he said quickly, but, though his words were semi-commanding, his tone and manner were more pleading than daunting. "If you get out of that bed before I get a complete, hands-on scan - well - just shoot me now, and save me the trouble of going back to the Temple, to get shot, or drawn and quartered, or something even worse."

Obi-Wan heaved a theatrical sigh. "And exactly where is the tiny terror?"

"I heard that," said a disembodied voice from the medical monitor panel.

Runoz grinned at Obi-Wan and murmured, "The woman's got eyes and ears everywhere."

"Heard that, too," Mirilent remarked, unperturbed. "Now you two can either sit there and play your silly little games, or we can get on with the exam, so all of us can move on to more important things. On the other hand, if my patient won't cooperate where he is, I'll just have to have him brought in to where I am, and don't think for a minute that I can't force the issue, Obi Nobi. You know better. So what's it going to be?"

Obi-Wan lay back on the bed. "Scan away, but make it quick. We have a padawan perishing with hunger pangs."

Runoz quickly calibrated the portable scanners to interphase with the monitor/recorders already in place. In a matter of moments, the examination was done.

"All right, Madame Boss Lady?" said Obi-Wan, opening a drawer in a bedside table to retrieve his lightsaber and his birthday stone, given to him so many years ago by his Master. "Can I go now?"

When he glanced over at the monitor, he was surprised to find it blank; Mirilent's puckish, smiling face was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey! Where are you? And answer me, please. Can I go now?"

"Keep your pants on, Little One," came that unmistakable voice. "Your screen must be on the fritz. And, yes, you may go now. Just try not to tangle with any stampeding banthas for a day or two. Okay?"

"What would you do without me?" he asked with a grin.

Though it was true that he could not see her, the reverse was not true; his image on her viewscreen was perfectly clear. She was careful that her sigh was so soft he would not hear it. "Grow old much more slowly," she replied, her voice betraying nothing of the tears that welled in her eyes. "Now just behave yourself, because I do have other patients, you know. I can't be at your beck and call all the time."

He smiled gently. "Only when I absolutely, positively can't survive without you."

She sniffed audibly. "Just make sure we don't have any of those days for a while. I need a break."

And, with that, she disengaged the comm link, and turned to look up at her husband, whose brow was lined with concern. "He didn't notice anything?"

She shook her head. "Not over a link. And I plan to keep it that way."

"But if he comes back to the Temple . . . "

"He won't. Not for a few days, anyway. I've already spoken to Mace; the Chancellor has other plans for him. And when he does . . . well, hopefully, this nonsense will be nothing but a stupid memory by then."

"Mir. . . ."

"I know, my Love," she said softly. "But, either way, his knowing won't make any difference. For now, we just - leave it alone."

****** ****** ****** *******

For a few seconds, Obi-Wan sat staring at the blank viewscreen, gripped by a formless sense of dread. Had there been some hidden message in Mirilent's words - something just barely beyond his grasp? He glanced up at young Runoz, looking for a suggestion of anything concealed, but there was nothing. Even a swift Force probe came up empty. 

Finally, he just gave it up as an over-active imagination, and grinned up at the apprentice Healer. "So, Gragg, you up for some breakfast on the terrace?"

He quickly finished dressing, pulled on his boots, and grabbed his Padawan in a neck lock as they all made their way to the terrace exit. Garen brought up the rear, a bemused expression on his face reflecting the dichotomy of his thoughts, bouncing back and forth between Obi-Wan and his condition and some deep contemplation that kept pulling him in and out of awareness of the moment. 

Abruptly, before stepping out onto the terrace, Obi-Wan paused. He propelled Anakin forward with a gentle nudge, then turned back to face Garen. 

"What?" Garen asked, wide-eyed.

Without ceremony, Obi-Wan shoved his friend into a window alcove, and fixed him with a solemn glare. "You tell me. What?"

Garen turned away and went to stare out the window.

Obi-Wan sighed, and walked over to put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Something is really bugging you, isn't it? What's up?"

In the dimness of the alcove, it took several seconds for Obi-Wan to notice the deep flush that crept over Garen's face. "I - uh - I . . ."

Obviously, the dark-haired young knight simply could not find the words.

"Very informative, Garen. But I can't quite read your mind well enough to make anything out of that."

"Obi-Wan, have you ever been in love?"

"Whoa," said Obi-Wan, ever articulate. "Where did that come from?"

"Have you?"

Obi-Wan joined his friend in staring out the window, actually seeing nothing of the view. "Not completely. I think I came close a couple of times, but my Master was always pretty quick to spot a potential problem - that was his term for anyone who got too close - and haul me out of harm's way." He turned to peer into Garen's eyes. "Is that what's bothering you? Are you in love?"

Garen ducked his head, unable to confront his friend. "I know it's crazy, Obi. I know a Jedi is not supposed to fall in love. But, when it happens, what do you do?"

A multitude of glib responses leapt to Obi-Wan's lips, but he swallowed them all, and simply laid his arm across Garen's shoulders. "I don't know, Garen. Maybe you find out how she feels."

Garen nodded, and seemed to brace himself. He still wouldn't meet Obi-Wan's eyes, but there was now a trace of determination in his voice. "I intend to ask her to bond with me, Obi. Will you stand with me?"

Obi-Wan stifled a gasp. Jedi knights, almost invariably, did not bond - particularly with each other. If they did, they generally were no longer Jedi knights. "Garen, are you sure? Have you thought this through?"

"I can't think of anything else. It's driving me nuts, Obi."

"Garen, you know that I'll do anything I can for you, but you have to understand the risk you're taking. Are you - can you really say you can give up the knighthood, if they force the issue?"

Garen turned and looked directly into his friend's eyes. "I can face anything, if she's with me. And . . . if I don't lose my best friend. What about it, Obi? Will you still be my best friend, even if I can't be a Jedi any more?"

Obi-Wan smiled. "Nothing's ever going to change that, my friend. We've been through too much together. Besides," he reached out and laid his hand on his friend's chest, "being a Jedi is in here, and I don't think anybody can take that away from you."

Garen quickly turned back to the window, but not so quickly that Obi-Wan didn't catch the gleam in his night dark eyes.

"Are you sure she feels the same way?" Obi-Wan asked softly, a surge of unease rising in the pit of his stomach.

Garen's smile was wistful. "How do you know how a woman feels? If you figure that out, you're on your way to fame and fortune, Buddy."

"But you've been together for a long time, haven't you?"

"Not so long. A few months. Long enough for me to be sure, but I don't know about her." He looked up and read the uncertainty in Obi-Wan's eyes. "You have your doubts, don't you?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I don't have any reason to have doubts. You know her a lot better than I do. I just don't want to see you get hurt, that's all."

"So . . . will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Stand with me?"

"Always, my friend."

The two clasped hands firmly. "One more thing," said Garen.

"Name it."

"You could help me get around that little hell-kitling of hers."

"Kammian?"

"Absolutely. She's apparently decided that I'm a threat to her relationship with her Master. See if you can talk her around, will you?" He grinned and winked. "She likes you. I mean, she _really_ likes you."

Obi-Wan leaned forward and accented each syllable with a hard tap on his friend's shoulder. "She's just a kid."

"Right - who just happens to secrete enough pheromones to repopulate Dantooine."

There was a chorus of voices from the terrace, summoning the two of them to their breakfast/meeting, and both turned to rejoin their group.

"When?" Obi-Wan whispered, as they moved away.

Garen huffed a sigh. "If all goes well . . . tonight."

"Luck, Buddy," Obi-Wan breathed and slammed an additional layer of shielding in place around his own feelings. Whatever attraction there might have been, whatever idle daydreams he might have had, whatever speculation he might have entertained - all of that was immaterial now. When Rionne had been a casual affair for his friend, she might have still been considered approachable, under the right circumstances. That was no longer true, and he would just have to live with it.

*** *** *** *** ***

When Obi-Wan had successfully buried his nose in his second cup of jaffa, and even managed to spoon up a few mouthfuls of peroto eggs, the Supreme Chancellor sat back in his chair, and observed the young knight thoughtfully. Under the guise of political consideration, he found that he could savor the presence of the Jedi quite openly, so long as he was careful to control his biofunctions. Such control was, of course, second nature, to the Sith.

"We've decided," he said finally, sitting forward, and managing - quite by chance, of course - to brush against Kenobi's arm, "to move the Summit to the Governor's palace on the Sanctuary moon."

Obi-Wan and Ramal Dyprio, a late arrival for the breakfast meeting, exchanged glances. "Sir," said Obi-Wan slowly, "I'm not sure that's such a great idea."

"But you must admit," Palpatine said firmly, "that it is a much easier site to police than anything on Coruscant. We can even initiate a no-fly zone, if we choose. And the technology is already in place to institute a dampening field, if we deem it necessary."

"Will it accommodate everybody?" asked Dyprio.

"Oh, most certainly. The place is a huge, old barn, actually. I've already sent my staff up there to prepare for our guests. It should be shipshape by tomorrow. And we've even requested a Jedi presence in medical and childcare personnel. Nothing will be left to chance."

Dyprio looked over at Kenobi. "What do you think?"

The younger Jedi hesitated, and then turned his intense scrutiny on the Supreme Chancellor. To his utter amazement (and complete delight), Palpatine felt a frisson of apprehension. "Only," said Obi-Wan, "if you give us your word, Sir, that we will be completely in charge of security. With full authority to act as we see fit, in order to protect you and the other summit participants. Do you agree?"

Palpatine took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly as if to shield them from the rising sun, and then nodded. "Absolutely. We put ourselves in your most capable hands."

The Chancellor then rose abruptly, excused himself, and moved quickly into the residence, sighing a huge sigh of relief when he reached the obscurity of the shadows, so that no one could discern the flush of excitement that stained his features. By the gods, the game was just growing sweeter and sweeter with every passing hour, and his dark angel, drawing nearer and nearer to the ultimate power play.

On the terrace, Rionne sat staring into the darkened doorway into which the Chancellor had vanished. She finally turned to look at Obi-Wan and surprised a hint of something dark and spectral in his azure eyes. "I don't know," she drawled slowly, "if I'd actually want that man in 'my' hands."

Dyprio grinned. "He's a politician. What do you expect?"

But Obi-Wan said nothing, and turned to gaze out over the balcony into the early morning traffic snarl that was Coruscant.

Rionne extended one slender, booted foot and tapped his knee. When he turned toward her, she spoke very softly - for his hearing only. "Watch your step, Sweetheart."

He smiled, but she could tell that something within him was not at ease with the status quo; something didn't feel right.

"So," said Anakin, "when do we go to the Sanctuary moon, and what is a sanctuary moon, anyway?"

And all the shadows in all the eyes of the group vanished, as they all found something that they could completely agree on. "Heaven, young lad," said Ramal Dyprio. "The Sanctuary moon is heaven, and you're going to fall in love with it."

"How do you know?" asked Ani, obviously not convinced.

"Because, my young Padawan," said his Master, "everyone does. It's like everything good you ever wanted in a home - only better."

"So when do we go?"

Obi-Wan and Garen exchanged glances. "Where's Longo?"

From the shadows of the open door, there came the sound of a throat clearing. "Does it occur to anybody," said a disembodied voice, "that young Kenobi has come to believe that I am his personal taxi driver?"

Kenobi grinned. "Don't tell me you're going to turn down a trip to the Sanctuary moon."

Longo leaned forward and mirrored the young Jedi's exuberance. "Twenty minutes. And if you're late, you're going to be hitching a ride elsewhere."

Obi-Wan turned to Gragg Runoz. "Are you the Jedi medical contingent? Or are you going back to the Temple?"

Runoz' smile was brilliant. "Are you kidding? I've been hearing about Sanctuary ever since I got here. Either she lets me go as the 'medical contingent', or I go AWOL."

Garen grinned at Obi-Wan. "He's going to risk Mirilent's wrath. And all this time, we thought _you_ were the brave one."

Obi-Wan laughed, and faced his Padawan. "Well, I guess the answer to your question is, right now!"

And in a matter of seconds, the terrace was deserted, as the Jedi ran to catch their ride.

*** *** *** *** ***

Mace Windu stood at the mullioned window in the Chancellor's office, lost in contemplation. Beyond the glass, it was a beautiful morning, planetary weather control apparently having decided that winter had held sway for long enough; it was time for a lovely spring day. But the statuesque Jedi Master had little interest in such mundane matters at this moment; he was much too involved with trying to decipher the stirrings within his consciousness that reflected similar uncertainties within the Force. Yet, no matter how he sought to grasp the shadows that seemed to taunt him, everything remained tenuous, formless, and just beyond his reach. He had, however, after much consideration, come to one definite conclusion: whatever it was that was happening - or trying to happen - or threatening to happen - it revolved, somehow, around Obi-Wan Kenobi. And that was what had brought him to this office - that, and a none-too-subtle suggestion from the little green troll. 

Palpatine bustled in, trailed by a staff advisor, an executive assistant, and a Senatorial page. Windu wondered briefly if the man ever moved in any way other than a "bustle". 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Master Windu," said the Chancellor smoothly. "I was just meeting with young Kenobi and his companions."

"Yes," said Master Mace. "That's what I wish to discuss with you."

Palpatine settled himself at his desk, dispensing stacks of documents to his staff members. "Of course. How can I help you?"

Windu stared calmly at Palpatine's gofers.

After a brief pause, the Chancellor nodded, and directed his staff to wait outside.

When they were alone, Palpatine clasped his hands in front of his face and regarded Windu solemnly. "Very well. You obviously have some misgivings about young Kenobi. Is there something I should know?"

"Misgivings? I'd hardly call them misgivings," said Mace. "Obi-Wan Kenobi is, without doubt, a fine young knight - exceptionally gifted, exceptionally strong in the Force."

"Why do I sense that there's a 'but' coming?"

Windu smiled. "Not really. Our sole concern is that he is still very young. And he has recently been through extensive trauma."

Palpatine rose and walked to the window. "Yes. The loss of his Master. Akin, no doubt, to the loss of a parent."

Windu nodded. "Only more so. Few parents and children have the kind of mental link shared by a Master-Padawan team. When such a link is severed - well, let's just say that it leaves an open wound. And healing happens only very slowly."

The Chancellor turned to face his visitor, and the smile that sat so easily on his face was perfect camouflage for the loathing that was so rampant in his mind. "Are you saying that you don't trust him to handle the security arrangements for the summit?"

"It isn't a matter of trust. The Council is simply concerned that he may still be somewhat vulnerable. It might be wise to . . ."

"Master Windu, I appreciate your concerns," interrupted Palpatine, turning his back to the Jedi once more and allowing a trace of his hatred to flare briefly in his eyes. "However, it's not as if he is alone in this endeavor. I have also asked Master Dyprio to be involved in the decision-making process. And there are a number of other Jedi in the group, some of whom, I believe, are very close friends of his. Surely, that will be helpful to him. I am frankly a bit surprised that the Council would publicly question the ability of a young man who has performed so remarkably well under such extreme stress. I, for one, am perfectly comfortable turning our security concerns over to him."

"Of course. We simply wish to offer our. . . "

"Unnecessary, I assure you." The Chancellor's voice was suddenly quite cold, and, for a fleeting moment, Windu wondered why. "I have every confidence in your young Jedi. If we require further assistance from the Council, we will most certainly contact you."

And, in a matter of seconds, Mace Windu, Jedi Master of long standing and, in matters of authority, second only to Master Yoda in the Temple's hierarchy, found himself standing in the corridor outside the Chancellor's office, with the definite impression that he had been handed his hat and told, in no uncertain terms, to bug out.

Apparently, the Chancellor was not immune to the effects of popular opinion - the same popular opinion which had so recently dubbed Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Draigonslayer.

***** ***** ***** *****

As it turned out, the journey to the Sanctuary moon was not quite as speedy or uncomplicated as the Jedi contingent had hoped. Since the entire complement of summit representatives had to be transported to the new site, and since security was of the utmost concern, it was deemed necessary for Trex Longo to retrieve the _Main Chance_ from its docking hangar at the space port, in order to carry a greater number of passengers than the shuttle could accommodate, and to do so in much greater safety. In the end, a small fleet of ambassadorial courier ships was assembled, along with a few civilian vessels under extended contracts with the Jedi, to deliver over two thousand summit delegates, staff and family members, and service and security personnel to the compound of the Governor's palace on the Sanctuary moon.

A journey that should have required no more than two hours, ultimately consumed almost two days - two days which saw Obi-Wan and Master Ramal inundated with reams of paperwork, dozens of major decisions and thousands of minor ones, and scores of individuals demanding attention to endless details.

When the last diplomatic delegation was successfully ensconced in the last available suite in the vast mansion - and when the last dispute about problems which Obi-Wan dubbed 'pecking order pettiness' had been resolved, the youngest living Jedi Master looked up from a pile of paperwork that obscured the top of his desk in the cubbyhole they had commandeered as a temporary office and sighed. "If I were a drinking man," he said wearily to Ramal Dyprio, "I'd be looking for the nearest bar."

Dyprio grinned. "The one big disadvantage of Sanctuary. The nearest bar is 383,000 klicks, straight down."

At a console stretching the length of the room, crammed with every conceivable manner of electronic equipment, a green light strobed brilliantly.

Obi-Wan, almost too tired to stand up, grabbed a stylus off his desk and just managed to reach the appropriate control. He didn't even bother to look at the screen.

"Geez, Kenobi, I've seen better-looking womprats."

He raised tired eyes to catch Sabé's not unsympathetic grin.

"They probably felt better, too. What's up, milady?"

"Milady? Wow, you are tired."

"Sabé," he said flatly - and there was a definite edge in his tone - "if you're calling to complain that there's a lump in your mattress, or that your closet isn't as big as the one next door, or that your hot water doesn't quite reach the boiling point, take my advice . . . and don't. OK? Otherwise, how can I help you?"

But the saucy handmaiden was, as always, as immune to his ill temper as to any nuance of intimidation. The obvious warmth in her eyes, however, said plainly that she was not immune to his charms and knew full well that he was not immune to hers. 

"Get over it, Obi. We're the tough gals from Naboo. Remember. We don't want you to fix anything or address any imagined slights or apologize for our inconvenience. Or anything else, except make yourself available for keeping company. No official banquets tonight, so we all have a little time to spare, so bring your friends, and come to our suite. By order of the Queen, young Jedi." Her grin was positively wicked. "And you know how she hates to be disobeyed."

He smiled at her for a moment, remembering (somewhere down in his almost exhausted mind) the sensation of her touch and her scent and her - everything else. "I'm really beat, Sabé," he said softly.

She leaned forward, exactly as if she were in the same room with him, instead of hundreds of meters away, and sighed gently. "And I know exactly how to cure that, don't I?"

Ramal Dyprio, red-faced with suppressed laughter, leapt to his feet and charged out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The whoop of laughter from the hall was still loud enough to make Obi-Wan wince.

"Okay, Sabé," he said finally, "but I'll probably have a big group with me. I promised to meet a few friends after I finish here. Will that be a problem?"

"Depends," she answered.

"On what?"

The evil grin was back. "On whatever you have in mind."

Suddenly, he wasn't quite as tired as he had originally thought. "You little devil," he muttered, shaking his head in amusement.

The laughter in her eyes softened somehow, as her face grew almost luminous. "I've missed you, Obi. Please come, and bring anyone you like. Eventually, they'll all leave anyway. And you? Well, whether or not you leave - that's up to you."

"Sabé. . ."

She held up her hand. "I don't want to hear it. The last time we had this discussion, there was a problem because you were not yet a knight. Well, that problem shouldn't exist any more. And if there's another problem - another reason, I don't think I want to know about it."

"But . . ."

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much, and think too much? Don't you ever just let your feelings take over?"

He smiled. "Maybe that's the problem. Around you, my feelings are confused."

She appeared somewhat mollified. "Well, I guess that's okay. It's better than being indifferent, anyway. So, will you come?"

Finally, he heaved a big sigh. "Yes. We'll come. I can see it's either that, or I'm going to be hounded to my grave."

She nodded. "Smart boy."

"But I do have other obligations, so . . ."

"Such as?"

"I promised to give Kammian a sparring lesson. Her Master has a rather important engagement this evening. So I'm filling in." Obi-Wan wasn't about to explain that the girl's Master would be too busy receiving a too-long delayed bonding proposal to give the lesson herself.

"Sparring? As in, lightsaber sparring?"

He grinned. "For a Jedi, that's the only kind."

"All the better, then. We have that huge terrace, and you'll have plenty of room. And I'll get to watch my favorite Jedi thrust . . ." Her voice grew seductively soft and breathless, "and parry and stroke and counterstroke - and do all those other lovely saber moves."

He took a deep breath and blew it out through his mouth, and determined to ignore the stirring in his loins. "Woman, you are a witch."

Her response was a peal of laughter and a blown kiss as she broke the comm link.

From behind him, there was a soft snicker. "Kenobi, you are one lucky, little bastard," said Ramal Dyprio, "and I wouldn't be in your shoes for all the credits in the Galactic Bank, cause that little girl has definitely got your number."

***** ***** ***** *****

When Obi-Wan arrived at the Queen's quarters, the crowd he had collected was even larger than he had anticipated. In addition to Anakin, Master Ramal, Reeft, and Kammian, he had also come across Gragg Runoz, and Romey, his little friend from Ragoon 6. During the weeks since their rescue, she had become quite invaluable to the Creche Masters. It seemed that she had an uncanny skill in handling young children - even those with formidable Force talents - and such a skill was extremely rare. The investigation to determine her planet of origin was still on-going, but Romey made no secret of the fact that she was perfectly content with the status quo and cared not at all if the secrets of her past were to remain forever secret.

She had been assigned to assist with the care of the children of the summit delegates, as part of the Jedi contingent, and she was delighted with both the assignment, and the accommodations. As much as she loved the Temple, she was not overly fond of Coruscant itself, which was, if one got right down to the bottom line, just one layer after another of over-population.

"You can actually smell life, here," she said enthusiastically, as the group made its way down the corridor toward the queen's quarters. "On Coruscant, you can't even smell the rain."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I know. I love the Temple; it's been my home for as long as I can remember. But there's nothing quite like sanctuary. If we have time while we're here, I'll take you over to the Jedi enclave. It's available to all Jedi, as needed. We just don't often get the chance to use it." 

His voice softened. "My Master, in particular, loved it. We always tried to get there for a few days in the spring, and again in the winter." His smile was slightly embarrassed. "We especially loved it in the winter. When it would snow. We had some monster snowball fights."

"What's a snowball?" asked Anakin.

Obi-Wan grinned. "When the winter arrives here, I promise I'll introduce you to your very first snowball. OK?"

"Watch it, Kid," chimed in Reeft. "Master Qui-Gon used to say that Obi could have conquered the galaxy if he'd just had enough snow. Personally, I think he cheated."

At that moment, the door to the Queen's chambers opened and Rabé grinned a greeting. "Come on in. The more the merrier."

And the crowd was surprisingly large. Of course, Amidala's entourage, by itself, included six handmaidens, and a security force, plus a couple of aides and advisors, and Governor Sio Bibble. In addition, Obi-Wan spotted a couple of Senators, including Mon Mothma, for whom the young Jedi had an abiding admiration, several members of the Chancellor's staff, some Twi-Lek dignitaries, members of the Organa family, of Alderaan, and, seated near the terrace doors, the Supreme Chancellor himself.

"My stars," breathed Romey, "are we dressed well enough for this crowd?"

Obi-Wan chuckled. "They're just people, Romey. Just like you. They all put their pants on one leg at a time."

"Humph," she huffed, jerking her chin toward Palpatine. "I'll bet he sits down on a chair and puts them both on at once."

Obi-Wan's eyes lit up with appreciation. Tired as he was - and he really was - he was glad he had forced himself to attend this little function. He badly needed the distraction.

"Master," said Anakin, then paused, not sure how to proceed.

Obi-Wan just tapped the boy on the shoulder. "Go say hello to Amidala. I know she's looking for you."

The smile that lit the boy's face was breathtakingly lovely.

"Master Obi-Wan," said Kammian Tyra, eyes huge (and absolutely too limpid, thought the young Master) - "I don't know anybody here."

"Hey," said Gragg Runoz, "I may not be the Supreme Chancellor, but I think I qualify as 'anybody'. And you know me."

She smiled shyly. 

Obi-Wan rewarded Gragg's effort with a wink. "Why don't you guys go find yourself some food. Looks like they've set up a buffet over there. I'm going to say hello to our hostess, and I'll come find you."

As they maneuvered through the crowd, in search of Amidala, Ramal Dyprio leaned over and said softly, "They should call this place 'Pheromone Alley'."

Obi-Wan grinned sympathetically. "You noticed that, huh? I thought it was just me."

Dyprio laughed aloud. "Trust me, Kenobi. It definitely isn't you."

"What are you guys talking about?" asked Reeft, his expression genuinely puzzled.

Dyprio raised a quizzical eyebrow at Obi-Wan, who shrugged. "Late bloomer," he said, too softly for Reeft to hear.

And then, for a full minute, he couldn't say anything at all as he found himself in what he could later only describe as a liplock, as Sabé hurled herself into his arms. When he finally managed to disengage himself, he was rose red from ears to toes. "What the devil do you think you're doing?" he managed to gasp, still reeling from the emotional impact of the kiss.

Unperturbed, as always, she threaded her arm through his. "Staking my claim," she replied, "before anyone else can."

Gently but firmly, he pulled out of her grasp. "Sabé," he said softly, "I can't allow this. Not like this. If you and I are going to have a relationship - at all - it can't interfere with my Jedi responsibilities. I'm sorry, but I can't change that."

She gazed up into his oh-so-serious eyes and winked. "Okay."

He blinked. "Say what?"

"I said, 'Okay'," she answered. "I can live with your rules."

"Then why did you . . ."

She grinned. "How am I supposed to know the rules, if I never test them?"

For a moment, he was speechless. Then he dissolved into laughter. "You - are - incorrigible," he intoned finally.

"And don't you forget it," she replied. Then she reached up and whispered in his ear. "And make sure you remember how very much you like incorrigible." 

"Sabé," said Queen Amidala, semi-sharply but softly enough to be heard by no one but Obi-Wan and the handmaiden, "behave yourself. You're embarrassing him."

Sabé agreeably moved away, but she was still smiling as she murmured, "Oh, he doesn't need me for that. He's perfectly capable of managing that all by himself."

And with that, the handmaiden captured the willing arms of both Ramal Dyprio and Reeft, and bore them off toward the buffet table.

The Queen met Obi-Wan's eyes with a rueful smile. "Sorry," she said softly. "I can't take her anywhere, these days."

The young Jedi leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "And you wouldn't have it any other way."

Amidala looked up at him, and he saw a speculative look in her eyes that he couldn't quite identify. "Don't be too sure," she replied.

"Good evening, Jedi Kenobi," said a cool voice, as he tried unsuccessfully, to decipher the Queen's meaning.

Obi-Wan turned to extend his hand. "Chancellor. I trust everything is working out to your satisfaction."

Palpatine beamed. "Perfectly, young Jedi. Perfectly. I am delighted with the scope and quality of your arrangements. However, I do have one question. Since you have elected to institute the dampening field, how do you propose to patrol the perimeter?"

Obi-Wan lowered his voice. "We're not exactly broadcasting the fact that we've engaged the dampening field, Sir. The fewer people who are aware of it, the fewer there are to try to find a way around it."

"Of course. Silly of me. Nevertheless . . . the patrols?"

"We're going out on pegai. We've managed to round up enough mounts to accommodate a full squad, so I think we've got it covered."

Palpatine's eyes were hooded as he regarded Obi-Wan. "Do you ride, Jedi Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan smiled. "Oh, yes, sir. My Master loved to ride, and he taught me when I was very young."

The Chancellor managed, barely, to conceal the leap of desire that flared in his eyes. The visual image that flooded his mind - of this strapping young Jedi astride one of the great winged pegai stallions - was unbearably seductive. "Your Master was a man of great discernment. Riding is one of the most exquisite pleasures. I may need to go over some details with you tomorrow, concerning certain individual security requirements; perhaps we could take a ride together?"

Obi-Wan, luckily, was skilled at concealing his own emotional responses. There were few things he could think of that he found less appealing than the thought of a pegaiback ride with the Supreme Chancellor. But, his likes or dislikes notwithstanding, the man was the sovereign official of the Republic, and saying no to him was hardly an option. "Of course, Sir. At your convenience."

From her perspective, Amidala was gazing at the Chancellor, with something not unlike suspicion in her eyes. What was that note of - something - that she thought she heard in Palpatine's voice? It couldn't possibly be what she thought it was, could it? Certainly, it wasn't really . . . desire? No. Of course, it wasn't. She was just being silly, and far too imaginative. It had been a long day.

Nevertheless, as Palpatine moved away, the Queen, operating under a compulsion she didn't pretend to understand, leaned forward and murmured to the young knight, "Make an excuse, Obi. Do not go riding with him." 

A sudden crash from the direction of the buffet table drew their attention, and both queen and Jedi were forced to stifle a burst of laughter as they spied Sabé, wearing a huge splash of muja juice on her heretofore white garment, with stipples of the dark purple liquid dotting her face like freckles. One of Panaka's security men was looking as if he would rather have faced a firing squad than answer for his momentary lapse with a pouring ladle.

Obi-Wan managed to restrict his reaction to a winsome grin. "Hey, where's my Padawan?"

The young queen's grin was radiant. "Stuffing his face and bragging to everybody who'll listen that his Master is going to give the greatest exhibition of lightsaber skill since Master Yoda skewered the last Sith."

A tiny shiver of dread threaded his consciousness in response to her phrasing, but Obi-Wan shook it off. "That's my Padawan."

"He's really very proud of you," she said softly. 

"It's mutual, and, by the way, he thinks you are the very flower of femininity."

"He said that?"

He grinned. "Actually, he just said you were 'way cool'. Or something like that. But it means the same thing."

"Master Obi-Wan," said a soft voice, almost in his ear.

He turned to find Kammian Tyra at his side. "Yes, Padawan?"

"Master, would it be too much trouble if I asked to proceed with our sparring practice now? I really don't want to eat before we spar, and I'm getting a little hungry."

"Kammi," he replied, "we don't really have to do this tonight, you know. I mean I know your Master requested it, but we could put it off, if you'd rather not."

"No," she said firmly. "Master Rionne asked because she believes I need this, and I know she's right. But could we just . . . get it over with?"

"We could go someplace more private," he offered. "It might be easier."

But again, she shook her head. "Please, don't bother, Master. I know I'm going to lose, badly. I'm not that good, and you're - well - you're Obi-Wan Kenobi. I just don't want to embarrass myself too much."

Obi-Wan caught a glint of entreaty in Amidala's huge dark eyes, and favored her with a barely discernible nod. "Don't worry about that, Padawan," he replied. "You're going to do just fine. This isn't about winning or losing; this is about learning."

"Right," drawled Reeft, but not loudly enough for Kammian to hear. "That's what he always says . . . just before he beats the stuffing out of you."

But Dyprio's smile was almost tender. "But not out of her, I think. He'll take it easy on her. She's a Padawan, after all."

"Hey, I was a Padawan, and it never stopped him from beating the stuffing out of me."

Ramal Dyprio's eyes narrowed. "Just be grateful he is who he is," he said, very softly. "Otherwise, he'd have skewered you a long time ago."

Reeft studied Dyprio's face. "Do you think you could take him?"

The swarthy Master just grinned. "You know, I'm beginning to hope I don't ever have to find out."

*** *** *** *** ***

The terrace outside Amidala's suite was, indeed, broad and relatively free of obstructions.

Though no announcement was made of the impending sparring match, it took roughly ten seconds for all the inhabitants within that suite, not to mention those in two others that fronted the same terrace, to become aware of what was happening.

Obi-Wan and Kammian discarded robes, and unsheathed lightsabers, then assumed the traditional stance. As in all Jedi endeavors, a period of meditation was considered indispensible before such sparring, so they spent several minutes deeply immersed in the lovely crystalline serenity of the Force. During that period, Obi-Wan felt an occasional brush of something dark and malevolent, but he was able to push it away easily, and gave it no more than a passing thought. Darkness, after all, was a part of the universe, no matter how much the Jedi might strive for Light. To refuse to acknowledge its existence would be both foolish and non-productive.

"Are you ready, Kammi?" he said finally, softly.

"Ready, Master."

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and looked deep into hers. "Begin."

The initial moves of the contest were as easy and graceful as choreographed dance. Kammian initiated the maneuvers, and Obi-Wan responded; this was the accepted manner in which all Master/Padawan training bouts were performed. The Master was never the aggressor, until the time came when the Padawan must be taught to defend against assertive methods.

"Oh, My," said Romey, as she watched the match proceed. She had never actually seen Obi-Wan duel, and she was astonished at his grace and speed.

Kammian was not quite as unskilled as she had pretended. Though her style was unpolished and still somewhat tentative, she was quite strong and her instincts were excellent. 

And the match gradually intensified. What had begun as a balanced point/counterpoint developed into a stylish competition. Although Kammian never managed to penetrate Obi-Wan's defenses, her tactics became bolder and more innovative as the match progressed. 

Among the spectators, it was debatable who was the more captivated: Sabé, virtually breathless with excitement; or Palpatine, who had all he could do to maintain his remote demeanor.

The girl was sweating now, Obi-Wan observed, but she was adapting to his style, and, once or twice, she even anticipated his moves, which surprised him. Only Qui-Gon Jinn had ever managed to anticipate him successfully.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan noted that Rionne Aprelle had joined the spectators, with Garen following behind her. He reached out through the Force, to test their emotions, but found their shields tightly in place. At the same time, he became aware that Kammian had done the same, as his Force awareness seemed to brush against hers.

And, suddenly, the girl was a cyclone of uncontrolled fury, and there was no mistaking the dark energy that swirled around her. What had been no more than an elegant exercise for the Master, escalated suddenly into a pitched battle.

Obi-Wan had no idea what had happened to transform her consciousness, but knew, somehow, that she had moved from light to dark in the space of a heartbeat. Within her now, was only a black, overwhelming rage.

Kammian swung at him, with all her strength, extending fully. He blocked it easily enough, but the force of the blow was surprising. And he knew, at that moment, that he could no longer be content to defend, for something was driving the girl that he must not allow to continue. The Cirsean child was suddenly in great danger, of losing herself in a place from which she might not be able to return.

Obi-Wan drove forward, and the emerald splendor of his blade - the blade that had come down to him from his Master - flashed and sputtered and wove a pattern of such complexity and beauty that Kammian had no option but to retreat before it. There was simply no opening for her to explore.

With a desperate leap, the girl propelled herself up onto the balcony railing, her blade demolishing a roof support as she landed; then sought to flip off into the night, bound only the gods knew where. With any other opponent, it might have worked, but not with Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was there just a fraction ahead of her, and, as she landed, a wave of his hand called her lightsaber to him.

Caught in a rage beyond speech and reason, Kammian could only scream as her opponent caught her, tenderly but firmly, and bore her down to the surface of the terrace. She beat against his chest with her fists as he tried to calm her.

"No," she screamed. "Please don't. Don't hurt me. I won't tell anyone. Please don't hurt me again."

"Kammi," Obi-Wan murmured, holding her tightly enough to prevent her thrashing around and injuring herself, "no one is going to hurt you. I swear. It's all right."

"Kammi," said Rionne Aprelle, knealing at Obi-Wan's side, "what is it, Padawan?"

Kammian went rigid. "Master?" The voice was tiny - barely audible.

"Yes, Padawan. I'm here. What's wrong?"

The girl stirred in Obi-Wan's arms, and looked up at his face. He frowned as he saw untold depths of shame obscure the light in her eyes.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Master Obi-Wan," she said rapidly, trying to free herself from the circle of his arms. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

"Hush, Child," he whispered. "There's nothing to forgive. But you must tell us what happened. What's wrong?"

The Cirsean looked over at her Master, looked back at Obi-Wan, then raised her eyes and looked at Garen.

Abruptly, her head dropped to Obi-Wan's shoulder. "So tired, Master. So tired. Please don't ask. Please don't."

Obi-Wan and Rionne exchanged glances - his, questioning; hers, bewildered.

"Maybe we should just get her to bed," suggested Obi-Wan. "For now. But we have to get to the bottom of this, sooner or later."

Rionne just nodded, apparently too stunned to think beyond the moment.

Garen's eyes were dark with concern as he stepped forward. "I'll take her," he offered.

But Kammian's arms were locked tight around Obi-Wan's neck, and she wasn't going to be pried loose, by anyone.

"It's okay," he said softly. "I'll carry her."

As they made their way to the doorway, murmurs of concern from the crowd followed them. The Queen, as they passed, reached out and stroked the girl's face, and Obi-Wan was once more impressed by the great depth of compassion he read in her sable eyes. "Good night, my warrior Queen," he said softly, enjoying the color that rose in her face, as she understood what he'd said.

Standing at the door, Sabé gave him a wistful look, not nearly as elegant now as she had been earlier, her dress a dripping ruin.

 _I shouldn't,_ he thought. _I really shouldn't. I'll almost certainly live to regret it._

He looked at the stain again. _Oh, what the hell!_

"Night, Spot."

Her reply was lost in the closing of the door.

***** ***** ***** *****

tbc


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Within the Tempest

 

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath, and then spent several moments trying to differentiate between all the various fragrances blended in the night wind. The attempt, however, was short-lived; there was simply too much sensation to catalog. It was sensory overload, particularly in contrast to the sterile, odorless, colorless atmosphere of Coruscant. Odorless and sterile, that is, on the upper levels where the Jedi Temple was located; in the vast miasma of the capitol's underbelly, the plethora of smells and sensory stimuli didn't even bear thinking about.

It was several minutes later when Rionne Aprelle came to join him on the terrace. In the slight blue tint of Coruscant's reflection, she was a portrait in light and shadow.

"How is she?" he asked.

"Sleeping, with a little help from the Force."

His eyes gazed out in the darkness of the palace gardens, but his thoughts were even darker. "Rionne, do you have any idea what that was all about?"

"No," she answered, with a sigh, "and she wouldn't explain. It's almost as if she's afraid . . . of me."

Obi-Wan sympathized with the devastation he heard in her tone. "Do you know if she's been suffering from nightmares?"

The flash of anger in her eyes was instantaneous and intense. "You don't think much of my skills as a Master, do you?"

"I'm sorry," he replied, immediately contrite. "I didn't mean to insinuate that. Gods know, I'm the last person who should question anybody's ability to train a Padawan. It's just that she almost acted as if she were caught up in a bad dream."

After a moment, she said, "Forget it. I don't have any better ideas to offer. So let's just say that, if she's having nightmares, she's concealing them extremely well."

He nodded. "You mentioned once that you were having some problems forging your bond. Have you . . . " He paused. "You know what? I'm just going to shut up now, because I'm sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong. And I really am sorry. If you need help, or a shoulder to cry on, you know where I am, although if it's advice you're seeking, you might want to look elsewhere. Okay?"

"Okay," she echoed, sounding as weary as he felt. "But you were right, you know. I can't just let this slide. One way or another, I must get to the bottom of it."

"Would you like me to get you reassigned, back to the Temple. I can get replacements in a matter of hours. With the late arrivals today - and the addition of Panaka's officers - we're more than adequately staffed now."

"Not just yet," she answered. "Ideally, I'd prefer she open up to me, before I have to get the Council involved."

"I can sympathize with that," he agreed.

She managed a small smile. "You don't exactly relish contact with the Council, do you?"

"Shows, huh? I guess I inherited more from Qui-Gon than I ever thought possible."

She studied his profile, before resuming her own inspection of the shadowy gardens. "I think he deliberately bred you to be a hybrid."

"A what?" He sounded amused.

"A blend of the best of both worlds. You know - a respect for the traditions and code of the Jedi, but, at the same time, the independence to think outside the box and act accordingly." She turned to face him squarely. "You're a credit to your Master, Obi-Wan, and to yourself."

His eyes took on that faraway look again, as if seeing things that could not possibly be there. "I miss him. Every day I miss him. And every day, I wonder if I'm ready to do what he would have done."

She considered her response for several seconds before replying, choosing her words carefully. "Maybe that's not what he meant for you to do."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not Qui-Gon," she said gently, "and, from everything I know about him - as well as everything I've been told about his belief in you - I don't think he meant to turn you into a replica of himself." She waited until he turned to meet her eyes before continuing. "He thought you were better. He intended for you to be better - to bring your own unique traits and abilities to what he taught you. Consequently, the best of both worlds."

He returned to his contemplation of the night, saying nothing. Rionne sighed, sensing that he was simply too polite to voice his disagreement with her observation.

Finally, he straightened and turned to go. "Time to check on the night patrols. If you need anything . . ."

"I told him 'no', Obi-Wan," she said softly, not looking at him.

He wouldn't insult her intelligence by pretending to misunderstand. "I'm sorry," he replied, not sure what else to say.

She made a small sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a cry. "Me, too. I guess. Aren't you going to ask me why?"

"No. It's not my place to ask."

Once more, she studied his profile. "Do you really believe that?"

He nodded. "I do."

The silence grew heavy, until she sighed. "He's a good man."

"The best," he agreed.

"But I never told him I loved him, Obi-Wan."

And he finally turned to look at her. "But you never told him you didn't either. Did you?"

She didn't attempt a direct response, her acquiescence unvoiced. 

Finally, when the moment stretched to an unbearable poignancy, she reached out and laid her hand atop his, on the balcony railing. "Is this the way it's going to be then?"

Carefully, gently, regretfully, he pulled his hand away. "This is the only way it can be."

She retracted her hand and laid it against her breast. "I thought as much."

"Sleep well," he said softly, as he moved toward the doorway.

Her laughter was bitter. "Don't you dare stand there wearing that Jedi nobility like a cloak and tell me to sleep well. Sometimes, I hate all our Jedi conceits. Like right now. When I think nobility just stinks!"

As he left the suite she shared with her Padawan, he thought that he couldn't possibly have agreed more.

***** ***** ***** *****

Obi-Wan hesitated in front of the door of the quarters which had been assigned to several individual Jedi knights. It wasn't yet really late, but there was silence from within, and, somehow, the night felt older than it actually was.

With a small sigh, he knocked softly, avoiding the door chime sensor, so that anyone within who did not wish to receive company would feel free to ignore the light tapping.

For a moment, he felt what might have been a familiar presence, but it was fleeting, and gone so quickly, he wasn't sure he had actually sensed it or only imagined it.

After a few minutes, he turned away, and some small part of him - (the cowardly part, he thought ruefully) - was grateful that he could put off facing his friend for a little while longer, for, in truth, he had no idea what he could say that would make the slightest bit of difference.

In his memory, an image of Rionne Aprelle smiled at him, her eyes alight with warmth and humor. How did one recover from rejection by such a woman? _And how did one ignore an invitation glowing in those topaz eyes?_ But that thought, he would not - could not allow, for it was a question which he dared not contemplate. 

****************** **************** **************

In the smallest hours of the morning, when all should have been quiet, there were pockets of activity in several areas of the compound - activities that would provide impetus for events already set in motion. At this hour, processes begun at various points along the space/time continuum had begun to converge, moving at ever greater velocity, sweeping more and more random elements along with the tides of circumstance. A nexus was drawing ever nearer, and it was impossible to know if a point of no return had already been reached. The matrix, from which the future course of time would proceed, was rapidly forming, but none could determine if it still existed within the pallid realms of possibility or if it had already hardened and become an expression of destiny.

Not even the Dark Lord of the Sith, himself, could be sure, no matter how much he tried to deny the exercise of free will.

For, in the final analysis, as much as he attempted to control the ultimate result, it was not his decision to make.

The pivotal figure, the individual who would, at last, either accept or reject the final resolution, was, for the moment, fast asleep, exhaustion having overcome even the most worrisome emotional turmoil. Obi-Wan was enjoying a well-earned repose, thankfully - for once - without the nightmares that so often disturbed his slumber.

For the moment.

But the moment would prove all too brief.

The alarm klaxon, when it blared, was so loud and intrusive that it allowed no opportunity for transition from sleeping to waking; one instant, the young Jedi was nested in his bed, comfortably blanketed against the chill of the night; the next, he was alert, erect, wide-eyed, and holding an ignited lightsaber.

His padawan, less seasoned in matters of Jedi vigilance, merely rolled over and attempted to block the screech of the alarm with a double armful of pillow.

"What . . ."

"Stay here," Obi-Wan commanded quickly, as he literally jumped into his clothes and simultaneously activated his comm link.

"Kenobi," he snapped. "What's happening?"

"We have a breach, Obi-Wan," replied Knight Jac-Rel Basc, from the Security command center. "Intruders inside the compound."

"Okay, I'm on my way. And shut off that alarm before we all go deaf!"

"Master?" Anakin was awake by this time - more or less.

"It's okay, Ani. Probably just a false alarm, but I have to go check it out. I want you to stay put and keep the door locked, until I get back."

Anakin's eyes were luminous in the light reflected from the window. "Is that what you did, when Qui-Gon had to go check things out?"

Obi-Wan was pulling on his boots. "It's what I would have done at your age. Don't argue, Ani. I don't have time right now."

Anakin sighed. "OK, Obi-Wan, but you're going to have to train me sooner or later, you know. Otherwise, I'm no good to anybody."

"Hey," said his Master with a smile, laying a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're the hero of Naboo, remember? Besides, don't be in such a hurry to grow up. It's not all it's cracked up to be. Now do as I say. OK?"

Anakin huffed, but nodded his agreement. 

Obi-Wan paused and looked back at his Padawan as he opened the door and grinned to see that the boy had already drifted back to sleep. Oh, for the carefree days of youth, he thought, then chuckled softly, remembering his own youth. Carefree wasn't exactly the word he'd have chosen to describe it. 

_Pandemonium,_ said a beloved voice, in his mind, echoing his own soft laughter.

_Just think,_ he sent back, _what your life would have been like without me._

_Tranquil?_ The voice was still rich with laughter.

_Boring!_

The laughter softened and ceased. _Yes - and empty beyond belief._

He stumbled briefly and closed his eyes. _I miss you, my Master._

_Impossible,_ came the reply, _for I am ever with you, Padawan._

Obi-Wan deliberately shook off the introspection that threatened to immobilize him and sent a cocky smile to his invisible companion. _OK, Master. You can come with me while we go kick some intruder butt._

And once more, he was filled and enriched by the glow of Qui-Gon's amusement.

*************** *************** ***************

Grabbing a pair of riding gloves from a peg, Obi-Wan ran for the exit leading to the stable. "Where's Garen?" he yelled over his shoulder, pulling the gloves on quickly.

"Haven't been able to raise him," Basc replied. "Some of the comm links are giving us problems. But Reeft is present and accounted for."

"Master Ramal?" 

"He raised the alarm. His group was first on the scene, so he's still out there."

Obi-Wan nodded as he ducked through the doorway. "If you reach Garen, send him out after me."

And he was gone into the night.

From a vantage point in the central tower of the palace, the Supreme Chancellor stood in complete darkness and gazed down on the pandemonium so integral to his plans. Fortune, it seemed, had elected to lend an unexpected boost to his machinations, and Palpatine had realized, very early in his life, that genius was often composed as much of the ability to take advantage of coincidence as of the capability to set events in motion. Thus he watched avidly as young Kenobi raced out of the Security command center and leapt the barricade surrounding the pegei stables. The young knight was astride a magnificent gray stallion in the blink of an eye, releasing the bonds that restrained its wings, and charging toward a gap in the fence, controlling the great beast using nothing more than the pressure of his knees, and - possibly - nudges from the Force. Some claimed that the fantastically beautiful animals were Force sensitive, but Palpatine had never found this to be so. Of course, it was possible that the beasts simply didn't care for his particular version of Force usage.

Palpatine's eyes gleamed venal yellow in the darkness, as his satisfaction with the developing situation ratcheted up several notches.

From the darkness came a feathery voice. "Is it time, my Master?"

"Not yet," he hissed. "But all is converging as foreseen. Soon now. Very soon."

"And this new development?"

"Will work to our advantage. All will work to our advantage, if we act accordingly. Worry not, young novice. And hold on to your patience. A thoughtless act now could jeopardize all. And that I would find difficult to forgive."

His eyes filled with cold, terrifying fury.

The novice shrank from him, and nodded, suddenly fearful of uttering a sound.

The Chancellor turned back to gaze out across the compound, following Kenobi with avid, lust-filled eyes.

Mere seconds later, another knight - it might have been the Aprelle woman - sprinted into the stableyard, snared a second mount, and raced after Kenobi, who, by this time, was airborne, and angling off toward the East to intersect an incoming group of riders.

"Where?" shouted the young Master, as the group approached.

"Southeast corner, near the citrella orchard," replied Ramal Dyprio.

Obi-Wan swung the pegei into the wind as he attempted to hold steady. "How bad is it?"

"No big problems. These are mostly from Panaka's command, and got a little careless in the saddle, winding up out of the saddle - on their heads, when the intruders startled their mounts. They're all a little disoriented, so I thought I better bring them in before returning to the hunt."

"How many?"

"Six that I saw. Maybe more in the deeper forest." 

"Any clue who we're dealing with?"

Dyprio's eyes were thoughtful. "Not pros, Obi-Wan. Clumsy, disorganized."

"Still, they got in here, and they're still on the loose."

"Dumb luck," replied Dyprio. "Keep a cool head. OK?"

"Always," shouted the younger Jedi over his shoulder as he wheeled away.

"Right," said Dyprio, with a small smile.

As Obi-Wan urged his mount upward, to gain a better perspective, a rush of wings beside him heralded the arrival of Rionne Aprelle. The haste with which she had bolted into action was indicated by the tumble of her hair, wild and unrestrained, and the fact that, like Obi-Wan, she was sans overtunic, cape and sash.

"See anything?" she cried, struggling to be heard over the howl of the wind, which was much stronger and louder at this altitude than on the surface.

He opened his mouth to reply negatively, when his eye was caught by a quick series of scarlet flashes, off to their left.

"There!" He pointed. "Let's go."

As they descended rapidly, she spoke to him through a Jedi link; the message came through loud and clear, and he took a moment to reflect on the ease of their communication, even from the very beginning.

_"Do we need a plan?"_

_"Do you have one?"_

_"Hey, you're the mastermind here. Remember?"_

His mental laugh was deep and rich. _"Who told you that?"_

She was suddenly awash in the sensation of flight - caught up in the exhilaration, reveling in the rush of wind in her face, and absolutely amazed to realize that what she was feeling was _his_ feeling, even more than her own, and she found herself laughing with him.

Moments later, they were both giving vent to a full voiced Corellian battle cry, an expression of sheer exuberance.

When they arrived at the site of the conflict, it was only to find that the conflict was not, any longer, a conflict. Everything had fizzled, almost to the point of nonsense. Nevertheless, a last, stray blaster bolt sizzled past the nose of Obi-Wan's stallion, causing the pegei to rear up on its hind legs, and flex its great wings, smacking its rider square in the face in the process.

Two Jedi Master and apprentice teams, by the look of them - but unfamiliar to Obi-Wan - were engaged in ministering to the wounds of several Senatorial security officers and a couple of civilians, but none looked seriously hurt. Standing in the middle of the well-tended orchard, Trex Longo was looking at his blaster in disgust, in the midst of a group of Naboo security staffers, who were milling around in semi-confusion, confronted by a bedraggled group of rag-tag civilians, clutching an equally bedraggled sign. The sign - a haphazard hand-inked affair that had seen better days - appeared to say "ree he peg", which, of course, made no sense at all.

Obi-Wan slid off his mount, and stalked toward the melee.

"What," he said, in his softest, most silken tone, "is going on here?"

Reeft, who was trying to deploy additional security staff around the perimeter, actually held his breath; he knew that tone, and - unlike the smirking civilian trespassers - he knew what it meant. Obi-Wan wasn't just annoyed; Obi-Wan was furious, a condition that, thankfully, happened only rarely, but generally boded well for no one, when it did.

Before anyone else could respond, there was a snicker from one of the interlopers, a Rodian with a network of scars on the side of his face. "Hey, Jedi, where's your little brown robe? Aren't you out of uniform?"

Obi-Wan ignored the heckler, and looked to Reeft for a response.

"Ugh, um-ah. They're animal rights protestors, Obi-Wan."

The blue-green eyes widened fractionally, then went glacial. "They're what?"

One of the protestors, a voluptuous Twi'lek female with brilliant tatoos covering her lekku, leapt forward. "You heard, Jedi. We're here to end your abuse of these innocent animals."

Obi-Wan glanced once more at the dilapidated sign, and this time, was able to make it out completely. "ree he peg" became "Free the pegei." Which, to his way of thinking, didn't make much more sense, but to each his own, he supposed.

He turned to face the group of protestors. "You disrupted a galactic summit conference because you want the pegei to be released into the wild. Is that correct?"

"It is," said a wild-haired young Corellian male. "They're creatures of the gods, and no one should own them."

"And if they're freed," said Rionne Aprelle, struggling to control a strange flicker that flared in her eyes, "where do you propose to send them? And how will they survive? There have been no wild pegei for decades?"

"They'd figure it out," called another of the group, a human female with piercings in every visible appendage and feature.

Obi-Wan was standing very still, looking over at Trex Longo. "What are you doing?" he asked softly.

Longo was toying with a blaster. "Fixing this thing. It jammed up on me."

The young knight nodded, then turned to his security detail, some of whom, much to his displeasure, were still milling around in a semi-disorganized manner.

"Stand still, please," he pronounced, still speaking calmly, but with a definite edge in his voice.

The fidgeting - mostly among the Naboo officers - slowed, but did not completely cease.

"How," he continued, still barely audible, "did a group of animal rights protestors manage to get past our security?"

"Um, they found a tunnel, Obi-Wan," answered Reeft. "It came in under the shield." 

"A tunnel? A tunnel. They found a tunnel. OK. Can anybody explain why _we_ didn't find that tunnel?"

"Actually," said a member of Panaka's security staff, "we did. Only, we found it after the fact."

Obi-Wan nodded. "And can we be absolutely sure that there are no more tunnels out there, waiting to be found 'after the fact'?"

"You can't hold us, ya know," called Miss Tatoo. "We got rights."

And the young Jedi took a deep breath, as Reeft closed his eyes and murmured a silent prayer. Obi-Wan spun and stalked toward the protestors. "Rights? You want to talk about rights? OK. Let's examine those rights."

He still had not raised his voice, but he continued to walk forward, and the protestors were forced to give way before his advance. "You are in a high-security compound which is under Jedi authority, for the duration of a top-level government conference which has already been disrupted once by terrorist activity, resulting in a threat to the health and well-being of both galactic, and planetary government officials. Your presence here could be construed as an additional threat to their safety and an attempt to coerce the decision-making process of a galactic governing body. That, my young friends, is one definition of terrorist activity. We have nothing but your word that your purpose here involves the misguided goal of freeing these animals; for all we know, you could be a group of assassins, plotting to overthrow the Republic. Or a group of extortionists, intent on collecting hostages. Or a group of anarchists, seeking the annihilation of all government officials."

"Now. Do you really want to discuss your rights? Because, under these circumstances - _you don't have any_ . . . .unless I decide to grant them to you. This is basically a military operation, under Jedi auspices. Do you understand?"

"But you can't . . ." That was the piercing princess.

His response was a roar, totally surprising from one customarily so softspoken. "I can't what?"

"OK, OK, OK," said the Rodian, his hands extended in a placating manner. "Let's all just calm down. No harm done here, is there? We'll just collect our stuff and be on our way. OK? That solves everybody's problem. Right?" And he started backing away.

What an optimist! thought Reeft, concealing a smile.

"Wrong!" 

Obi-Wan didn't bother to touch the Rodian, whose skin was exuding a rather nasty looking fluid as he grew more and more nervous. Instead, the young Jedi just picked the creature up, using the Force, and tossed him toward the Security detail. "Reeft, take them in. And send out a recon team to look for any additional tunnels that we might have overlooked." He paused for a moment and noted the continuing confusion of the non-Jedi security personnel. "Make sure there's at least one Jedi team with every patrol."

"Right, Boss," Reeft replied with a grin, knowing that Obi-Wan really hated being called that. "What about the rest of the patrol?"

Obi-Wan looked over at Rionne, who nodded briskly.

"We'll ride it," he said, suppressing a sigh. 

Then he turned back to Trex Longo. "You get it working?"

Longo squeezed off a shot and vaporized a small bush. "Good as new. Why?"

Obi-Wan was mumbling as he leapt once more on the back of the pegei. "Because if anything else goes wrong, and I decide to shoot myself, I don't want to fail because of a broken blaster."

Longo chuckled. "I'll make sure it's in good order for you." 

***************** ********************** ******************

Obi-Wan sat easily astride the huge pegei, looking, thought Rionne, as if he'd been born to ride the great winged beast. But the expression on his face was far less relaxed and composed than his posture.

"It's just too big and too wild," he said, his eyes sweeping the dark terrain beneath them. The beat of the pegei's mammoth wings provided a steady, metronomic cadence for their journey, but, at this low altitude, their voices carried easily, nullifying the necessity for Force communication, "I'd need a full battalion just to plug all the holes in this place."

"Probably," she agreed, "but at least the dampening field allows you to spotlight any electronic or plasma energy emissions and shut them down."

"Um hmm, but that's not going to do a thing for an old-fashioned concussion grenade, or even a chunk of explosive."

She smiled at him, not unsympathetically. "Well, that's what you have us for, isn't it? The Force will fill all the gaps."

They rode on for a while, in silence, senses, Force-enhanced, fully extended, noting every energy signature, every presence in the Force - sentient and not - and every nuance of disturbance. And, though the wealth of sensations should have been overwhelming in its intensity, somehow it was not; all was sorted, examined, evaluated and catalogued in an ongoing, almost sub-conscious process, which occurred almost instantaneously. They sensed - and then, they knew, and the elapsed time between initiation and completion was almost non-existent. It was uniquely Jedi, and completely second-nature to them. For the most part, unless they required access to some bit of esoteric information, they didn't even notice it.

As they neared a broad ribbon of river which marked the edge of the palatial estate, Rionne glanced at her companion and saw something in his expression that chilled her. "What's really bothering you?" she asked abruptly.

He guided the pegei to a stop at the edge of a narrow bluff, looking down on the restless gleam of the river.

"I keep hearing something my Master said, on our last mission together," he said, as he slid off the pegei's broad back.

Alighting at his side, she hopped to the ground. "Such as?"

His smile was rueful. "He kept insisting that the Trade Federation's actions didn't make sense, that there was something else going on that we didn't understand."

She walked to the edge of the bluff and gazed out over a landscape awash now in midnight blue and deepest heliotrope, with random silver traceries of lightening flaring off to the east. "And how does that apply now?"

He took a deep breath. "The same as before. Nothing makes sense."

"I don't follow."

He moved forward to stand beside her, a darker shadow in the darkness, now that the blue blaze of Coruscant had descended below the horizon. "Think about it. If you had gone to all the trouble and expense to construct and plant a sophisticated bomb and successfully managed to place it within arm's reach of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, why then would you bother sending in assassin droids?"

"Overkill?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. In fact, just the opposite. If the droids had never shown up, we probably would never have tumbled to the bomb."

"So what else could it be?"

"What else, indeed?" he echoed, worrying at the labyrinth of logic that seemed too convoluted to be genuine.

Suddenly, their eyes met. "Decoy," they said together, voices slightly raised against a slow rumble of thunder.

"But for what?" she asked. "What was it meant to conceal?"

"Or reveal," he countered. "Suppose we were meant to see something that isn't real, rather than not see something that is?"

"Want to try to say that again?" she asked with a grin.

"No, but you know what I mean."

"I think I do, but I don't know how that helps us get any closer to the truth. I mean, it could be anything."

He shook his head. "Not just anything. It has to be something associated with the people within the target area. Someone who is other than what he or she appears to be - someone we aren't seeing clearly."

A shiver of unease touched her spine as she turned to look at him, trying to pierce the darkness and read what was in his eyes. "What are you seeing, Obi-Wan?"

He deliberately avoided her gaze. "What makes you think I'm seeing anything?"

"It's in your voice," she replied, "and in your eyes, sometimes, when you think no one is looking. Something - huge, and dark. Something terrible. What do you see?"

He just shook his head. "Nothing I can talk about. Nothing I can really understand. Just - dark times, waiting for us."

"For us?" she repeated softly. "Or for you?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but I feel somehow, if I could just figure all this out, maybe I could stop it. All of it."

She smiled. "Pretty big job for one man," she said. "Need a hand?"

He laughed. "Several, no doubt. But one must first know what to do before one can ask for help."

Her eyes were awash with the reflected light of a band of stars above them. "But you will ask," she said, all traces of amusement gone. "When the time comes, you will - won't you?"

"Sure," he said easily. "Trust me. I have absolutely no problem with asking for help. I could even be persuaded to yell for help, under the right circumstances."

But his flippancy did not bring the smile back to her eyes, as he intended. "Just see that you do," she said solemnly, before turning back to her study of the landscape below them.

Just in time to be momentarily blinded by a sudden flash of ball lightening that materialized almost at their feet.

"Oh, Crap," said Obi-Wan, leaping for his mount, and dragging her with him. "It's a Sanctuary summer storm, and we let it sneak up on us. We've got to get into the forest - fast."

The wind, non-existent only moments before, howled now like a living thing in torment, and the brilliance of the lightening, suddenly everywhere around them, was surpassed only by the intensity of the thunder.

The pegei were unconcerned, of course; such storms were commonplace for them, but sentient beings, of all species, had a natural aversion to being caught out in the middle of one of nature's more violent tantrums. And though the massive winged beasts were unbothered by the growing turmoil around them, they did pick up on the accelerated biorhythms of their riders and allow themselves to be hurried into the relative shelter of the forest, where Obi-Wan and Rionne dismounted, in the midst of a small copse of long-needled parsha trees.

"There's supposed to be an equipment hut somewhere near here," shouted Obi-Wan over the growing roar of the storm, "and I think I spotted a comm relay tower when we flew over. We should find some shelter there. That way, I think." He pointed off to their left.

"What about the pegei?" she called, as she took off at a sprint through the heavy foliage, wincing at the actinic brightness of the lightening forking through the sky - and lancing through the forest.

"They'll be fine," he answered, leaping over a deadfall of twisted tree trunks. "They'll just nestle up under their wings, and go to sleep."

A particularly fierce growl of thunder slammed into them, and Rionne felt fat drops of rain, stinging cold, slap against her back.

"There," shouted Obi, gesturing through the trees just ahead of them. Then, with a wordless grunt, he grabbed her hand and propelled both of them through the air, by virtue of a Force-enhanced leap, into a ramshackle lean-to that offered the only shelter available. They landed hard, and so, at the same exact instant, did the rain, slamming at the roof of the little structure with the force of a battering ram.

"Geez," she shouted, "I can't hear myself think."

He just nodded, and tried, without success, to activate his comm link.

"I think we're stuck," he yelled, "for the duration."

The lean-to had definitely seen better days, with both ends having long ago succumbed to the drag of gravity, and a roof that was definitely headed in the same direction in the not-too-distant future. The whole thing was no more than three meters in length, and less than that in width, although the foliage that grew up close around three sides of it provided a little additional protection from the raging elements. Nevertheless, within seconds, the entire interior of the little structure, was assailed by wind-driven rain, and Obi-Wan noted that Rionne was huddled as far back under the overhang as possible and hugging herself with trembling arms. His eyes moved over the area within the structure, looking for some means to improve their circumstances, and he spotted a dark niche in the most secure corner of the lean-to. When he reached up, he found what felt like a folded tarp.

"Hey," he called to her, "maybe we can make our little refuge a bit more cozy."

Thus saying, he gave the tarp a yank, but found that it seemed to be snagged on something. Actually, it wasn't really snagged; it was draped over a ring-like metal framework, which he could not see, from his vantage point, and it was located at the end of a spiral of tubing, leading from the roof. As such it was doing exactly what it had been designed to do; it was trapping rainwater, for use as needed.

But, for the moment, all it was accomplishing was the aggravation of one very tired, very impatient, very overwrought Jedi knight. And, under these circumstances, Obi-Wan did what any normal adult human male would have done; he grabbed the edge of the tarp, accessed all of his considerable strength and then, enhanced it with Jedi reinforcement - and pulled.

He stood absolutely motionless as a deluge of dirty, frigid, malodorous water poured over his head, and pooled around his feet, after filling his boots.

Rionne Aprelle really, really tried not to laugh. And, for the space of a few moments, she was marginally successful, hiding her grin behind her hand. Until Obi-Wan, once the downpour was done, reached up and dislodged a rather large, bilious yellow frog-like creature from its perch on the back of his neck.

At which point, all hope of self-control was lost. By the time the disgusted young Jedi had flopped down on the soggy floor to remove his saturated boots, Rionne was literally curled up on said floor in a fetal position, trying to stop the laughter that was taking her breath away and mounting a threat to her bladder control.

Obi-Wan said nothing, figuring - correctly - that any comment from him would only make matters worse.

"I'm sorry," she finally managed to gasp. "I know I shouldn't . . . ."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied. "Go ahead. Knock yourself out."

"It's just . . just . ."

"Just?"

"If your fan club could only see you now."

"I do _not_ have a fan club."

"I beg to differ," she chuckled. "My Padawan is a new pledge."

He groaned. "I thought that would all fade away when I was knighted."

She smiled, and, for the first time, allowed a trace of sympathy to color her tone. "Knight or not, you're still the drop dead gorgeous Kenobi, and your public couldn't care less about your rank."

He gazed out into the raging storm. "Maybe I'll grow a beard."

She smiled as she studied his profile. "Won't help."

"What will?" he asked with a weary smile.

"Maybe a few decades," she answered, watching his eyes. "But I doubt it. You've got beautiful bones, Kenobi. Better just get used to it."

He sat in silence for a while, listening to the explosion of raindrops against the lush foliage around them. Then he stood, and appeared to be deep in thought, his eyes unfocussed as he stared out over her shoulder, into the darkness, where the rain fell unabated, although the lightening seemed to be moving off.

"Is something wrong?" she asked abruptly, catching a glimpse of something moving deep in his eyes.

"No," he answered absently, moving to stand at the edge of the enclosure, not quite touching her, but still within reach. Close reach, and she wondered suddenly if there was something out there in that darkness that he wanted to shield her from.

Casually, with a smile she didn't see, he studied the foliage of the mammoth plant that was crowded up against the edge of the lean-to, the plant known colloquially as a cauldron plant, in testament to the unique and generous shape and capacity of its leaves. He looked down into the massive, bowl-shaped leaf that hovered just above his companion's unsuspecting head.

"Rionne," he said quietly, as he reached out with the Force and gripped the edge of the meter-wide leaf.

"What?"

"Incoming!" he yelled, and tipped the leaf over.

For the space of a heartbeat, she didn't react at all, as the icy water poured over her, plastering her hair to her head.

Obi-Wan was doubled over, whooping with laughter and fighting for breath, by the time she managed to wipe the deluge from her face, but his incapacity didn't slow him down by much.

"Kenobi," she growled, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"Wh-what?" Between guffaws.

"Prepare to join the Force!"

And there was now no choice. Rain or no rain; storm or no storm; it was run - or risk being run through with a sputtering lightsaber, until she regained her Jedi control.

Oh, well, he thought, as he took off at a dead run. He couldn't get much wetter.

He was wrong.

Within one minute, both of them were drenched, muddy, and breathless with laughter, as well as with fighting to draw oxygen from completely saturated air.

He plunged through a small copse of low shrubbery and thought he might have lost her.

But he hadn't, of course. She was as much a Jedi as he, and just as skilled in Force tracking

As he emerged from cover, she launched herself in a flying tackle, taking both of them down on a mud-slicked incline, and propelling them into a raging torrent that, in another life, just minutes earlier, had been a trickle of a stream.

"Oof!" wheezed Obi-Wan as she landed atop him when they fetched up against the lip of a larger pool, rimmed by broad, flat-topped boulders.

"Had enough?" she yelled in his ear.

Deftly, with a Force-push, he flipped them over until she was pinned beneath him.

"You were saying?"

She looked up into his eyes, closer to her than he had ever been, and realized that this was the first time she had ever seen his face without a single shadow of melancholy - and, by the gods, how achingly beautiful it was, mud smears and raindrops notwithstanding.

"We should have water fights more often, Kenobi," she laughed, reaching up to touch his lips with her fingertip. "You look happy as a kid with a new toy."

"I just like to win," he replied, eyes alight with mischief.

Suddenly, without allowing him any opportunity to pull away, she threw her arms around his neck and, accessing just the tiniest bit of Force enhancement, jerked his head down, meeting his lips with her own.

For the space of a heartbeat, she sampled the exquisite softness of his mouth. He, in turn, tasted the sweet cinnamon essence of her lips - and tried to remember how to breathe.

As if by mutual agreement, they pulled apart and struggled to their feet, and, for a few breathless moments, simply stood staring into each other's eyes.

Impulsively, she reached up and cupped his cheek with a gentle hand. "I could drown there," she murmured.

Abruptly, he appeared to shake off whatever it was that had gripped them. "If we don't get out of this, we could both drown here," he said firmly. "The storm is getting worse again."

And though they both turned and hurried back toward the questionable sanctuary of their modest shelter, his arm remained firmly around her waist, and she showed no inclination to reject the protection he seemed to be offering.

Within the shadows of the lean-to, she sank to her knees in the most remote corner of the shaky structure - and waited.

Obi-Wan had barely moved out of the downpour, before turning to gaze back into the torrent, one hand braced against a rickety support beam. Thunder rumbled heavily, shaking the world.

"Obi-Wan?"

"I can't," he said immediately.

"Can't . . . or won't?"

He shook his head. "There's no difference."

She rose finally and came to stand behind him, reaching up and tracing circles on the wet fabric of his shirt. "Will you deny what you're feeling?"

"You don't know what I'm feeling." He managed - he would never know how - not to clear his throat before speaking.

She laid her cheek against his back. "Oh, but I do. You're good, Kenobi; your shields are as strong as any I've encountered. But nobody's that good. Look at me."

He smiled as he heard - and deflected - the tiniest nuance of Jedi compulsion in her tone. But he did as she asked, and turned to face her.

"What?" he said softly, not allowing himself to touch her.

"No," she answered. "I said, _look_ at me. Not just with your eyes. Look hard, and tell me what you see."

He allowed his eyes to slide down her body, pausing to take in the scultured softness of her lips, the slender column of her throat, the perfect swell of her breasts, the handspan smallness of her waist, and the lovely curves of her hips trailing down to the slender elegance of her legs. Then he looked up again, and met those incredible topaz eyes, and saw himself lost within them.

"I can't," he whispered, and neither of them knew whether or not he meant that he couldn't speak, or he couldn't pursue what was so obviously in his mind and heart.

She looked away, and the smile on her lips grew bitter. 

"All right, Kenobi. But I'm not going to make it easy on you. You'll have your honor; and you better hope that's enough. But this is so you'll remember what you don't have."

He didn't back away from her - had no desire to back away, although he knew he should. Still, when she melted herself against him and slipped her arms around his waist, his hesitation was minimal, before he clasped her to him, and covered her lips with his own. As the tempo of the storm swelled around them, so did the tempo of the kiss, as he felt her lips part under his, and his tongue tasted her sweetness. Suddenly, he was conscious of every inch of her body, straining under the wetness of her clothing, molded to him, and stroking him to an all consuming warmth. His hands moved, seemingly of their own accord, to frame her face, and then to caress her throat, and finally to explore the swelling bounty of her breast. As she moaned deep in her throat, he broke away from her lips and buried his face in the silken skin beneath her jawline, nuzzling at the tender flesh around her b'riffia jewels.

Her hands moved slowly, to caress his throat, his chest, his hips, and the hot, pulsing bulge in his trousers, and her lips moved down to nuzzle at his chest.

Suddenly, with a moan that seemed to be torn from the depths of his soul, he wheeled away from her.

For a while, the only sound was the crash of the storm, and the hoarse, ragged breathing of both occupants of the little shack.

By the time either could speak coherently, the storm was ending, and they were ready to retrieve their mounts and head back to the mansion.

But as they stepped out of the shelter, she looked up at him one last time. "Remember," she said softly.

And he took her hand, turned it palm upwards, and kissed her palm. "Like I have a choice."

She nodded. "If ever honor isn't enough . . ."

She turned and walked into the night.

******** ************* ************ ********

Soaring through the air of the Sanctuary moon in the aftermath of a storm was unlike anything Rionne had ever experienced before - except, she thought privately, the wonder she had known in the arms of Obi-Wan Kenobi. But that was a thought she must learn to suppress, for she had taken a peek into the spirit of her companion as her hands had explored his body. He would not change his mind; his love for his friend would not allow it. And it mattered not at all that he was beginning to understand how pale and insipid that love was, in comparison to the love that was waiting to swell and blossom within him.

But it would not happen; she saw that clearly now. He would not permit it, and something within her seemed to shatter, beyond repairing. She had not told him of her own feelings - would never tell him now. That would make it easier, when she did the only thing left for her to do. She would take her apprentice, and they would find another place for themselves; a place filled with harmony and tranquility; a place not filled with thoughts and memories of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The sky above them was like an inverted bowl of melted sapphire, splashed with diamond dust, and the air was clean and crisp, and touched her skin like fine silk as they glided toward the mansion. At her side, Obi-Wan was silent, but a quick glance revealed that he was savoring the moment as well as she.

Until something caught his eye, something that was not as it should be.

"The stables," he shouted. "There's a fire."

She looked down and immediately spotted the obscene orange cloud, that so patently did not belong among the images of this perfect night.

Gliding and soaring forgotten, they plunged down toward the surface, seeing, as they drew near, that efforts to contain and extinguish the flames had been successful. Part of the stable was nothing more than a smoking ruin, but it appeared that all the pegei had been rescued, and there was no evidence of physical injury to any of the staff or guests.

Obi-Wan leapt from the back of his stallion before it fully landed and strode to the forefront of the firefighters.

"Everything OK here?" he demanded of Ramal Dyprio.

The Jedi responded with a thumbs up, which was a pretty good indicator of just how tired the Corellian Master was. "Why don't you go calm down the civilians?" Ramal suggested. "And we'll finish up here."

Obi-Wan nodded, glancing over to where the Supreme Chancellor, Queen Amidala, and a dozen other dignitaries waited for his attention. "Lightening strike?" he asked, expecting his guess to be confirmed.

Dyprio looked over Obi-Wan's shoulder to where Rionne Aprelle was climbing down from her pegei. "Not exactly."

Obi-Wan thought that he was a little too tired to play games. "Then what - exactly?"

"Rionne's Padawan," Ramal replied in a near whisper.

"What about her?"

Dyprio was obviously not delighted with what he had to say. "She started it. With her lightsaber, and if Reeft hadn't spotted the smoke and flames and set off the alarm, we'd have one huge phregging mess on our hands. Including dead pegei, and maybe even some injured staff members."

Obi-Wan looked as bewildered as he felt. "Why? Why would she do such a thing?"

"She didn't say."

The younger Jedi just stared at him.

"She didn't say anything. She's not talking, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan spun to stalk away. "Well, she's going to have to talk to me."

"Wait," said Dyprio, catching the younger knight's arm and pulling him back.

"There's more."

Obi-Wan sighed. "OK. I'm waiting. What else?"

Dyprio's eyes were heavy with shadows. "She's been beaten."

"What?" Obi-Wan thought surely he had not heard what he thought he heard.

"Badly beaten. And maybe even more than that. I didn't have time to check."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and fought to suppress the black rage that rose within him as he pictured the fragility of the Cirsean Padawan. "Who?"

"We don't know, and she won't say. And since her Master was out riding patrol with you - there's no one who seems to know anything."

Obi-Wan turned and watched Rionne approach, but she stopped short as she read the darkness in his eyes.

"Kammian?" she asked, suddenly gripped with dread.

"Kammian," he said with a nod. 

"She's in the command center," said Dyprio, "with one of Queen Amidala's handmaidens. We thought it best that a female stay with her. She seemed calmer that way."

Rionne took off across the compound at a run, with Obi-Wan right behind her.

Surprisingly, she stopped before reaching the building, and turned to face him, her eyes awash with tears. "You," she said, with a gasp for breath, "stay here."

"No way," he answered.

And it rocked him to his foundations when he saw the cold look in her eyes as she looked up at him. "Don't you get it," she muttered. "Don't you understand?"

"Not . . ."

"I didn't hear her. Whatever she went through, she went through alone, because I was too busy lusting after you."

"You don't know that."

Tears spilled over and marked her face. "Yes, I do. Gods help me, I do. Now you just back away, and let me try to help my Padawan."

Despite the huge pain around his heart and his desire to march in and question the child and then make everything all right, he finally nodded. He would try it her way, in the knowledge that he would have felt the same if anyone had tried to interfere between him and his padawan.

"If you need me . . . "

"No, thanks. You've done enough." She turned to move away, but stopped short. "I'm sorry, Obi. I know you don't deserve that; you didn't create this problem. But I need you to leave it be, for now. For me. Whatever else we might ever have hoped to have doesn't matter now. This does."

He nodded. "For you, and for her."

She shuddered. "Sometimes, I really hate you, you know."

And she hurried away, not looking back.

Obi-Wan turned to face the waiting civilian crowd, and saw that Chancellor Palpatine's eyes reflected the blaze of the stables oddly. For a moment, the expression there was almost feral - like a hungry malia - a trick of the light, no doubt.

Beyond the Chancellor, he spotted Amidala and Sabé, the latter gazing at him with a really peculiar look in her eyes. Bail Antilles, of Alderaan, managed somehow to look like the ideal of sartorial splendor, even in the darkness just prior to dawn and after being wakened by a fire alarm. 

And there, at the back of the group, stood Garen, wrapped in a cloak of solitude that was almost visible. He was not dressed in his customary Jedi garb, but wore black shirt and trousers, and had a long, jagged scratch on his face. But most disconcerting of all was the look in his eyes; he was staring at Obi-Wan as if he had never seen him before, almost as if he had no idea who he was.

"Gar?" called Obi-Wan, moving to his friend's side, before attending to his duties to assuage the curiosity of the crowd. "Are you all right?"

The dark-haired young knight turned to gaze at his friend, and Obi-Wan barely managed not to wince at the depth of hurt and emptiness he saw in Garen's eyes.

"Where've you been?" he asked finally. "I've been looking for you all night."

Garen turned away and looked back toward the house, into which Rionne Aprelle had vanished. "So I noticed."

"Are you OK?" Obi-Wan repeated.

Garen's shoulders seemed to hunch against the gathering darkness, and he lowered his head. "Why did she turn me down, Obi Wan? Do you know?"

"No, my friend. Of course, I don't know. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. I don't know."

"Maybe." The response was muffled, as Garen didn't raise his head. "But maybe there was another reason." And now he jerked his head up and stared into the eyes of the young man who had been his best friend his entire life. "Maybe she couldn't see me, because she was too busy seeing someone else."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I don't . . . "

"That's right. You don't. So drop it." He turned to walk away.

"Garen?" Obi-Wan's tone was vaguely apologetic, as if he had to ask a question, but he didn't much like it. "Where have you been tonight?"

"Riding," came the muttered response. "Just riding."

"We tried to contact you."

"I know. I heard. I had to think."

"Garen, I . . ."

"Just - leave - it - alone," came the desperate response. "I don't want to talk to you right now. If I do, we may never find our way back to where we used to be."

In the end, Obi-Wan let him go, without another word, and wondered how much else there was in his life that he could stand to lose.

*************** ******************** *********** 

tbc


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: A Handful of Dust

_Your shadow at morning striding behind you_  
_Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;_  
_I will show you fear in a handful of dust._

\-- _The Waste Land_ \- T. S. Eliot

Obi-Wan sat in the darkened room, lost somewhere in that featureless wasteland inhabited by those too weary to continue to function but too overwhelmed to accept the solace of sleep. In a pallid rectangle of reflection, snoring quietly, lay his Padawan, mercifully oblivious to the dramas and traumas of this endless night. For some time now, as the inky depth of nocturne yielded ever so slowly to the gentle inevitability of pre-dawn, the young Master had been content to simply sit and watch the boy sleep. At one point, he had considered attempting to summon the consciousness of his own lost Master, wondering if he could do so more or less at will, but he elected, finally, to forego the effort. Somehow - and he couldn't really explain how - it didn't seem appropriate for him to initiate the contact, unless, of course, he was running for his life. Then he'd have no such compunction.

Anakin slept, like most nine-year-olds, in a contorted position, twisted around pillows, sprawled atop blankets, thrashing occasionally, as if engaged in hand-to-hand combat. And Obi-Wan was struck, as he had been from the very beginning, by the degree of the boy's physical beauty. He would grow into a handsome young man, and would, no doubt, learn to use his looks in his efforts to manipulate those around him - as did all handsome young men, at one time or another. Obi-Wan, like most serious Jedi students, spared little thought for his own physical beauty, but he wasn't quite so Jedi that he was above using it to his advantage, when the occasion demanded it. And he wasn't quite as immune to the enjoyment of his effect on the opposite sex as he pretended to be. He was Jedi, but he was also young, healthy, and human.

His Master had always found his padawan's ability to enchant the distaff population of the Temple intensely amusing, except on those rare occasions when the adoring public in question had gone so far as to interfere with the function of the Master/Padawan bond. 

At those times, it had never failed to amaze Obi-Wan how quickly the ever soft-spoken, quietly chivalrous Qui-Gon Jinn could turn into a curt, taciturn curmudgeon. Which, of course, only served to increase Obi-Wan's appeal among adoring female padawans, as scores, even hundreds, of them imagined how they would comfort the apprentice in the face of the completely unreasoning wrath of his raging Master.

A stray thought brought his musing to a screeching halt; now he would be the one who must step in to preserve that bond, becoming fierce and forbidding in his defense of his padawan's dedication to his Jedi training. _But first,_ said a stubborn voice within him, _you must instill it, before you can defend it._

He frowned, not at all happy with the direction his thoughts were taking. 

He turned his head and renewed his study of Anakin's countenance. There was a quality of purity in the boy that brought a lump to the young Master's throat - a quality which, had he but known, was much like that which had first snared the attention of his own Master, so many years ago. But there was also an elusive worldliness, a knowledge beyond his tender years, that gave the young Master pause. An initiate's devotion to the Jedi philosophy was as second-nature - from the initiate's point of view - as the need to breathe; it was instilled right along with the desire to commune with one's peers and excel in all matters Jedi. But Anakin had never been an initiate, or a novice; had sprung full-blown into apprenticeship, thanks to the staggering extent of his latent power, power that would, no doubt, enable him to surpass the accomplishments of trainees twice his age with little expenditure of effort. But where, in the pursuit of learning that would come too easily, was he to absorb the wisdom he would need to temper his abilities? And who, among the Jedi, would be strong enough to dissuade him from taking the oh-so-enticing paths that would constantly beckon to one of his strength, but would ultimately lead only to dishonor and death?

 _Fishing, Young One?_ The gentle amusement wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Then came the soft, satiric tone he remembered so well. _The answer, you already know - so why question?_

Obi-Wan laid his head against the back of the chair, and closed his eyes, to see the smile that touched his consciousness. _You have more faith in me than I do, my Master._

Ghostly fingers stroked his hair. _Yes. I do. I always have._

Obi-Wan's smile was gentle. _Aren't you supposed to be doing - whatever it is you do to save your strength. I don't suppose you actually sleep - do you?_

Soft, tender laughter brushed against his senses. _No, and neither do you - not nearly enough, anyway._

For a moment, the young Jedi simply sat, and allowed himself to bask in that sweet, spiritual radiance, to be soothed by the loving affection of that touch. The urge to nestle into the blissfulness of oblivion, cradled by his Master's essence, was almost irresistible - but, in the end, he couldn't. The day was dawning already and demanding his participation.

Yet - he could spare just one more moment. _Master?_

_Yes, my Obi._

The young Jedi felt serenity pour over him like warm oil. _Do you foresee what lies ahead?_

The pause was barely noticeable - but it shook Obi-Wan nevertheless, for Qui-Gon, while never impulsive, was also never hesitant. _No, Padawan. I see nothing, beyond the moment, except . . ._

_Except?_

The young knight was softly enfolded in arms he could not see, and it took everything he had and everything he was not to simply sink into the loving presence that surrounded him. _Darkness, my Obi. Great darkness, concealing great danger. You must move with the greatest of caution._

Obi-Wan glanced over to where Anakin was beginning to stir. _Is it coming for him?_

Qui-Gon's deep sigh stirred the hair on the young knight's temple. _No, Obi. It comes for you. Only you can stand against it._

Obi-Wan managed - barely - not to tremble, but his breath caught in his throat. _Alone, Master?_

Warm fingers stroked his face. _Never, my padawan. Never._

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Obi-Wan rose, but a pale, ephemeral hand materialized on his arm and forced him to look up into starlit, midnight eyes that were only just visible to him and would not have been to anyone else. _Trust the Force, Obi-Wan. And be mindful. The disturbance grows._

_Yes, Master. Always._

As he moved to the doorway, phantom eyes watched him, and fought not to shed phantom tears.

***************** ******************** ******************** 

Sabé stood in the corridor, her delicate profile backlit by the roseate dawn radiance pouring through the tall windows behind her. Weariness draped itself around her, almost as tangible as the scarlet gown that swathed her body. Her eyes were pools of shadow as he opened the door.

"You're needed," she said tersely.

He rubbed his left eye with the heel of his hand, and she refused to note the completely charming, childlike quality of the gesture. "Good morning to you too, Mistress Sabé."

There was nothing soft or yielding in her expression as she regarded him solemnly. "I don't think this is the time or place for etiquette lessons. Are you coming?"

"Can I put my shirt on first?" he asked, stifling a yawn.

"Suit yourself." She deliberately refused to see the play of light and shadow that sculpted the muscles of his chest, arms and back as he turned to retrieve his tunics. Moving silently (like a great catling, she thought reluctantly), he checked to see that his padawan slept on, undisturbed.

"The sleep of the innocent," he said softly with a smile as he closed the door behind him.

"As if you'd know about that," she huffed, turning to walk away.

"Hold it," he said sharply, deciding abruptly that he preferred cleared air to lingering resentment, whatever the source. "Go ahead. Say whatever you have to say."

"What makes you think I have anything to say to _you_?" she retorted.

"Oh, I don't know. Could be the fact that if looks could kill, I'd have been struck dead at your feet last night. And now, you won't even look me in the eye. That's not your style, Sabé. You're not a pouter, so either spit it out or let it go. Either way, I'm not going to play this game."

She stopped and stared up at him, not entirely sure how - or if - she wanted to proceed. Finally, she just took a deep breath and jumped right in. "Do you have any idea how you looked when you came riding in last night?"

He shrugged. "Wet, dirty, and tired, most likely."

"Um - and incredibly sexy."

His smile was playful. "I think that must have been a case of sexy being in the eye of the beholder."

But there was no smile in her eyes. "No. It was a case of sexy being in the eyes of the woman beside you. The two of you were so sexually charged, you were practically glowing. I've never seen anything like it before. It's amazing that you didn't set off sparks when you touched each other. Must be a Jedi thing."

She was not looking directly at him at that moment, and yet she sensed the tension that appeared suddenly in his posture and his demeanor. "You're imagining things," he answered, after a pause.

Slowly, she reached out and touched his face, very gently. "You know, I thought I might have been - until right now."

"Meaning?" His tone had become brusque.

"Meaning you're a terrible liar, Obi-Wan."

"But we didn't. . . ."

"I know," she interrupted. "Your Jedi honor got in the way, didn't it? Everybody knows how your friend, Garen, feels about her. And that's enough to stop you cold, isn't it?"

He shook his head. "I don't think this bears discussing."

She nodded, then favored him with a sweet smile. "Tell me something, Jedi. Does anything ever work out for you? Can't you even fall in love with someone who isn't guaranteed to break your heart?"

"Jedi don't . . . ."

"Oh, puh-leeze! Don't even start with me. I know love when I see it." Her smile became wistful. "I even knew when I didn't see it. What happened between you and me was wonderfully sweet, but it wasn't love. Was it?"

He reached out and grabbed her hand. "Oh, but it was," he said gently, raising her hand to his lips. "Maybe it wasn't the everlasting variety, but, for those moments, I loved you. I've never been very good at casual sex. You're a wonderful, generous, loving woman, and very worthy of being loved."

Her eyes widened. "Damn you, Kenobi," she breathed.

"What?"

"You just managed to end our little liaison, and make me feel that it was all worthwhile. All at the same time. You know what? You're dangerous. You could rule the universe, with a little bit of luck."

He laughed. "Not interested. Now, since we've put our differences behind us, where are we going?"

"Your lady needs you," she said with a sly grin.

"My lady?"

"You are _not_ going to play stupid with me now, are you? You may have gone all Jedi/noble and denied your natural instincts - and hers, but you aren't fooling anybody about your feelings for each other, whether you act on them or not."

"Including Garen?" he asked quietly.

She frowned. "'Fraid so, Chum."

"I need to talk to him."

"Right, and no doubt let him slice and dice you into chopped nerf, but, for now, Master Rionne needs you. She hasn't exactly said so, but I think she's at wit's end with her padawan, and she's looking for some help."

"From me?" His tone was incredulous.

"Yup. From the Boy Wonder, himself."

"I'm willing to do whatever I can, but I don't have a clue how I can help."

Her smile was bittersweet. "I think that you don't know your own strength, Kenobi. Kammian is a Cirsean. Remember? They look at life a little differently from the rest of us. You might be the only one who stands a chance of reaching her."

He looked at her sharply. "Does that mean she still hasn't talked?"

"Not a word, except for a few mumbles in a dream."

"Has she been examined by a healer?"

"No. We tried, but she just went psycho when Rionne brought Gragg in."

As they neared the suite shared by Rionne and Kammian, the young knight took a deep breath, in an attempt to steady himself. "Do we know . . ."

"No, we don't. Rionne can't get past her shields, at all. She's hoping that you can. If not, she'll have to get a mind healer up here - fast."

"Has she reacted to Rionne at all?"

She shook her head. "Only in a negative sense. She doesn't freak out when Rionne approaches her, but she doesn't respond to her either. The only person she's had any positive response to at all is little Romey, and that's very subtle. She allowed her to sit close to her and to brush her hair. The rest of us, she merely tolerates and ignores."

"But she's reacted badly whenever a man approaches her," he observed.

"Yes. And that's why Rionne sent for you. Someone has to break that pattern. She thinks you're the one to do it."

He sighed softly. "I don't know why she'd think that."

Her soft laugh was bittersweet. "You don't? You're the draigonslayer, remember? You can do anything."

He was silent, his eyes unfocussed and distant.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, as they came to the door of the suite.

His smile was rueful. "That I'm really beginning to hate that nickname."

**************** ***************** **************

Obi-Wan found Rionne curled up in a tiny knot in a corner of the massive, plush sofa that dominated the sitting area of the suite. She was dressed in the feminine equivalent of a garment that he himself was inordinately fond of - a faded, frayed, long-past-its-prime bathrobe that Qui-Gon had once declared too ragged for rats to bother with. The pallor of her face accentuated the dusky circles under her eyes and emphasized the delicacy of her bone structure, as she cupped her hands around a steaming mug.

Obi-Wan sank into the chair at her left, and reached out to touch her hand with gentle fingers. As expected, despite the obvious warmth of the aromatic liquid within her cup, her skin was distinctly chilly.

"Elixir of the gods?" she asked wearily, with a nod toward the jaffa service on a nearby table.

"How long since you've slept?" he demanded.

"Don't start," she snapped. "My padawan . . ."

"Has already suffered the loss of one Master," he interrupted. "Do you wish to deprive her of a second?"

"You're exaggerating," she said wearily.

"How long?" he repeated.

"About thirty-eight hours," she finally admitted.

He nodded, then sat forward and took her cup from her hands. "Go to bed, Rionne."

"Not . . ."

"You will," he said firmly. "By the gods, Woman, even a Chal-Si child of five would know better than to push the limit that far. You have to sleep."

Tears welled quickly in her eyes, and trembled on her lashes. "Obi-Wan, she's just - heartbreaking. And it's as if I'm not even there; she's completely unresponsive. Someone, some - _thing_ \- did this to her, and I can't even find out how badly she's hurt. Because she won't let me in."

"Hurting yourself," he murmured as he rose, "won't help her." And he bent and scooped her up, as easily as if she herself were a child. He carried her to her bedroom, and reached out with the Force to turn back her blankets.

"I can't just go to sleep," she protested.

"You'd rather go catatonic?" he asked, as he laid her gently on the bed, trying to ignore his body's reaction to the sweet, spicy fragrance of her skin. "I've had the dubious pleasure of witnessing a Chal-Si biorhythm crisis - once - and once was more than enough. I won't let you put yourself at risk for that."

"But she needs me," she insisted, struggling against his arms that pinned her to the bed, and, by the gods, it was taking every ounce of self-control he had - and some that he wasn't sure he _did_ have - to keep himself from simply climbing into the bed with her, silencing her words with his lips, and encouraging nature to take its course. Crisis or no crisis, he thought ruefully, the human male libido was a remarkably resilient and single-minded force - not to mention completely oblivious to any need but its own.

Nevertheless, his resolve did not falter; he was not going to allow her to deny her body's vital needs. The Chal-Si, despite being remarkably strong and durable physically, had one major biological weakness; their bodies required regular regenerative periods, achievable only in sleep. A human who became sleep-deprived might suffer hallucinations or delusions or even become psychotic; a Chal-Si, on the other hand, would simply go into biological shut-down as one vital body function after another simply ceased to operate. The result, almost inevitably, was death, of either the entire body - or, more horrible to contemplate from the Chal-Si perspective, of the mind.

"Do you trust me?" he asked gently.

She looked up, and had to blink rapidly to keep from losing herself in his eyes. "With my life," she replied, albeit reluctantly.

"I _will_ help her, or I'll find someone who can. I promise. But first, you must let me help you."

She saw the steady resolution in his face, and nodded finally. "But not a full cycle," she insisted. "Four hours will be enough."

"But . . . "

"Four hours," she repeated, "or nothing."

He nodded as a trace of amusement flared in his eyes. "I could just put you under, and keep you there as long as I like, you know."

"You could," she answered with a tiny smile, "but you know you'd have to pay for it later. Four hours, and only if you promise me you'll try to reach her. She likes and respects you. So maybe . . . ."

He nodded again. "Stop worrying; start sleeping. I'll take care of it."

Finally, she allowed herself to nestle into her pile of pillows, and bask in the healing warmth he was pouring into her through the Force, in the guise of sleep induction. "Someday," she murmured, "one of us is going to be able to say that to you. They'll call it a miracle, no doubt."

He kissed her forehead gently. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, unable, despite his best efforts, to remain silent.

Her fingers found his lips and traced the cleft of his chin. "You're the real miracle," she murmured. "Save my padawan, Obi. Do what you do best."

His smile faltered slightly. "And what's that?"

She cupped his face with both her hands. "Be Obi-Wan Kenobi. I think that's probably all that's required."

******************* ******************* ****************

The girl was a pale wraith in a pool of shadows, sitting hunched and motionless in the corner of a window seat alcove. The drapes behind her were pulled tight against the encroachment of morning.

As Obi-Wan entered, another shadow, in another corner of the room, detached itself from the surrounding gloom and moved to greet him. Romey looked pale and exhausted as he reached out to grasp her hand.

"Any change?" he asked softly, noting that his small, greenish friend looked every bit as worn and traumatized as the young girl she was tending.

"Nothing," replied Romey. "She just sits and stares at nothing."

"Has she slept at all?"

"Little naps, here and there. She just nods off, occasionally. But then something wakes her; bad dreams probably. Then she's wide awake again. It's a horrible thing for a child to have to go through, Obi-Wan."

He saw tears welling in her eyes, and reached out to wipe them away. "Not too great for you either, hmmm? Why don't you go get some rest?"

"I'm OK," she said quickly. "You might need some help."

But he was adamant. "If I can't handle one fifteen-year-old padawan, I better turn in my robes, don't you think?"

She smiled. "You might want to think that through a little more carefully. When Gragg came in and tried to examine her, I think he had reason to be grateful for our presence."

He looked puzzled, and she laughed softly. "Let's just say that if she had been a fraction faster with her lightsaber - and Master Rionne had been a fraction slower - young Gragg would spend the rest of his life singing soprano in a boys' choir."

"Aahh," he sighed. "I see your point. But still, I think I can handle it. Besides, I'm hoping that me being here, by myself, might help to ease some of her anxiety."

He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was skeptical, but she finally agreed, and left the room.

With only the briefest glance toward the girl, who was nothing more than a silhouette in the darkness, Obi-Wan moved to the terrace door where a broken sliver of morning light pierced the gloom of the bedroom. As it happened, it fell diagonally across his face, accentuating the remarkable sculpture of his features.

The silence within the room deepened - and yet, somehow, something was no longer as it had been. Something - waited.

After a while, Obi-Wan moved closer to the alcove in which Kammian sat, still motionless. But one thing, at least, had obviously changed. The ambient light in the dim room seemed to pool momentarily on her pale face, and shimmered softly as her eyes turned to follow his movements.

He still did not approach her, stopping at a distance of about three meters, where he allowed himself to settle into a meditative posture on his knees. With the softest of drawn breaths, he closed his eyes, and opened his mind and heart to the Force and whatever message or direction it might have for him. For some time, he did not move at all, as he sought to burn away all the inconsequential concerns of secular living, and reduce himself to the ash of serenity.

Finally, he was able to center himself, and all awareness of everything beyond his union with the Force fell away. Its sweet harmony sang to him and in him and was almost a visible manifestation around him. Somewhere within that radiance a familiar presence lingered, available if he so chose, but careful to avoid encroaching on his consciousness. 

The gentlest of touches - like a drift of mist against his skin - registered in his awareness; soft, tentative fingers, trembling against his face.

He opened his eyes slowly, to see the girl kneeling before him, the satin sweep of her hair all but obscuring her face. Only the deep golden velvet of her eyes penetrated the gloom between them. Obi-Wan hardly dared to breathe, so fragile seemed her connection to reality.

"So beautiful," she said softly, with an intonation that was almost musical. "I chose you, you know. You were to be the one."

"The one?" he echoed gently.

"My cho-marische. The one." Still very lyrical - almost singing.

"I don't understand," he said softly.

She tilted her head and stared up at him from beneath incredibly thick, long, spiked eyelashes. "You're not Cirsean, so you wouldn't know. But on my world, I am no longer a child. On my world, I would have gone through my varcima rites two cycles ago. My cho-marische would have guided me through it. For me, it is past time."

Her hand fell from his face as her eyes filled with shadows. "Now it is simply too late."

"What's too late, Kammian? Tell me what you mean."

She looked up at him, but, somehow, he thought she was simply looking through him. "You won't believe me."

Moving with exquisite caution, pausing when he sensed her sudden urge to cringe from him, he reached forward and brushed the hair from her face and managed, somehow, not to recoil from the livid bruises and jagged cuts that marred the perfection of her luminous skin.

She noted his response, but interpreted it through the trauma in her mind. "You find me ugly now. You would not wish to lead me through my rites."

"No," he said quickly. "You could never be ugly. But I can't conceive the ugliness of anyone who could do this to you. Please trust me enough to tell me what happened."

She shook her head. "I can't. You would not believe me."

"How can you say that? Why would you say that?"

Her eyelids swept down to conceal the anguish in her eyes, but she was adamantly silent.

"Kammi, did someone abuse you, sexually?"

Surprisingly, she laughed, but there was no joy or humor in the sound. It was acrid with bitterness. "Sexual abuse? That sounds like someone touched me inappropriately. Or exposed himself to me." Her eyes opened wide, and the fire within them was a raging inferno. "I was raped, Master Obi-Wan. Raped. Used like a common whore." Racking sobs suddenly tore through her body, as she peered into the horror of memory. "He was - so big. And it just went on - and on - and on. And he made me beg him, to do horrible things. And when he'd satisfied himself, then he made me service him, so he could . . ."

"Kammi . . . ."

"He made me use my mouth, Master," she cried out, looking as if she couldn't understand the words she was speaking. "And then, he . . ."

The girl collapsed in on herself, falling to the floor as if she had no bones left to support her body. Obi-Wan knelt beside her, and pulled her into his lap. "Shh, shh," he murmured, holding her as if she might break under the force of a strong breath. "It's going to be all right. We're going to get some help for you."

She laid her head against his shoulder. "How are you going to help me, Master?

"Can you give back what he took? Humans don't understand how Cirseans feel about sex. For you, it's physical, but for us, it's very spiritual. It involves the communion of souls, as well as bodies. Do you understand?"

He thought about his feelings for her Master, and was able to answer truthfully. "I think I do."

"So how are you going to make it right, Master Obi-Wan? Can you make me whole again, so I can go to my Varcima rites as a virgin? Can you restore my ability to revere the sex act as a spiritual thing when it's been soiled and perverted in my mind?"

His eyes were haunted as he looked down into her elfin face.

"I didn't think so," she whispered, reaching up to touch a tear that trembled on his lashes.

"Tell me who," he pleaded, not knowing what else he could say to her.

But she sighed gently. "Revenge won't change anything. And you wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Kammian, you can't just let him get away with this. What if he does it again, to somebody else?"

She shook her head. "It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been Cirsean."

He lowered his head to peer into her eyes. "Are you blaming yourself, for being who you are? That doesn't make sense."

She was silent for a moment. "Sometimes, it's easier to blame yourself, than to figure out who's really to blame."

"I don't understand, Kammi. Please trust me, and talk to me."

She looked up into his eyes, and he felt the magnetism of her innate sexuality. At fifteen, Kammian would be considered at the height of her sexual prowess if she were full-blooded Cirsean, and if she were an inhabitant of her native world. And now, even though she was Jedi, her autonomic hormonal urges affected almost every compatible male she encountered, including - much to his chagrin and discomfort - young Jedi Masters.

"If I had asked," she said softly, "would you have been my cho-marische?"

He smiled. "I'm not sure what that means."

And it was her turn to smile, ever so bitterly. "Yes, you are."

He lowered his eyes. "It's different for me," he admitted. "But we can talk about that later. Whenever you wish. Right now, you need to see a healer, and you need to tell me who did this to you."

"I don't want a healer," she said, shivering against him.

"Kammian, you must listen to me. You may have internal injuries. And only a healer can make that call. Plus, there may be DNA evidence that needs to be processed carefully. Please allow me to call for a healer."

Finally, after an eternity of silence, she nodded. "But not a man, Master Obi-Wan. Please. For now."

He nodded. "I know just the person. And you still haven't answered my other question."

Her hair fell around her face again, as she lowered her head until it was resting on his chest. "I can't, Master. Please don't be angry at me. I can't tell you. You wouldn't believe me."

"Kammian, you're a Jedi. Why would you think I wouldn't believe you? Jedi don't lie to each other, or to anyone else, given any other option."

She looked up at him, and he saw her response in her eyes, even though she was careful not to voice it.

"Son of a Sith," he murmured, seeing the truth in her face, but not wanting to believe. "It was a Jedi who did this to you."

Her mute misery was the only answer he required, as well as the only one he was going to get.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and swallowed the surge of black rage that rose within him. How could a Jedi do this? How could anyone do this, to a child, but, above all, how could a Jedi betray everything he had ever been taught, everything that the Jedi stood for, for the sake of a few minutes of forbidden physical gratification, at the expense of a child's innocence? 

He was struck suddenly with a horrible premonition. "Kammian, did he . . ." Oh, Sith, how was he going to phrase this? "Was he in your mind when he . . . "

"Yes," she whispered, and would say no more. Nor did she need to, for he could guess the rest. Not only had her assailant used her fragile body mercilessly, for his own depraved gratification, but he had forced her to experience his perverted delight in her defilement by forging a temporary mental bond with the child.

With infinite gentleness, Obi-Wan reached out and touched her consciousness through the Force. He hesitated as he felt her recoil from his approach, but she steadied almost immediately, and allowed him to proceed. He was careful to explore no more than was absolutely necessary to be certain that all trace of that abusive bond had been removed. Other than an area of darkness, like a lingering bruise, he found nothing.

"It's going to be okay, Kammian," he soothed, as he withdrew from her thoughts. "I'm going to call for a healer to see to your injuries. In the meantime, why don't I just take you in and tuck you in bed with your Master? She's . . . "

"No," the girl cried out, panic written large in her eyes. Then she seemed to realize that she had startled him with the intensity of her reaction. "Can't I just stay with you?"

"Of course, you can," he said gently, smoothing her hair back from her face with a trace of Force energy. "But your Master is very, very troubled, Kammi. She loves you very much, and . . ."

"I know," she replied, "but she can't help me now. Maybe she could have before, but not now. Please, just let me stay with you."

"All right, but you're going to have to resolve this, sooner or later, you know. She's your Master, and your bond . . . "

"Is broken," said the girl, more coldly than he would have thought possible. "I doubt it will ever heal."

"You're angry with her," he observed. "Why? Because she wasn't there to stop this at the beginning? Kammi, that was my fault, I'm afraid."

But she just shook her head, and regarded him with those huge, shadowed eyes. "You're assuming that you know when it started. You don't."

"Do you mean this has happened before?"

"Not like this. Tonight was just the end. The beginning was a long time ago."

"Kammi, please. . . "

"Don't ask me any more. Please. I can't tell you, because it won't do any good. And it might do a lot of harm."

Finally, he nodded. "But I'm not through with this. Sooner or later, I'll find out what happened."

She nestled her face against his throat. "But for now, just hold me, Master Obi-Wan. Let me pretend I'm safe - that this never happened. Just for now."

He settled himself in a deep chair near the terrace doors and allowed her to arrange herself comfortably against his frame, as he accessed the Force and bathed her in gentle waves of healing energy. Then he activated his comm link and asked for a patch through to the Temple healers' wing.

Surprisingly, Mirilent's communicator was answered by her spouse.

"Master Varqa," said Obi-Wan, speaking softly as it appeared that Kammian had drifted off to sleep. "I need Mirilent."

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan, she isn't available right now. Can I help you with something?""

"Not available," he echoed. "I've never known her to be unavailable when I called. Is something wrong?"

Varqa sighed. "No, of course not. But she is involved in some research with a genetically coded virus, and it's at a very delicate stage. I'm afraid she can't just abandon it, just because you call."

Obi-Wan swallowed the definite twinge of hurt that rose within him in response to those words. Maybe they were justified; maybe he didn't have a right to expect her to drop everything and come running just because he asked her to, but that was a direct contradiction to everything she, herself, had ever said to him. Still, he wouldn't make a big issue out of it, not until he could speak to her himself.

"Very well," he said coolly. "I need a female healer, here at the governor's palace on the Santuary moon. And I need her yesterday. One of our Padawans has been brutally attacked."

There was the definite sound of a sigh from his comm unit. "Of course, Obi-Wan. And forgive me for being so abrupt. This virus thing has us all strung out. I'll send Master Silqua up immediately."

"Master Varqa," said Obi-Wan hesitantly, "this virus. Is someone ill? Is this some kind of epidemic?"

"No, Obi-Wan. No epidemic. It's a very specific virus. It's just very stubborn. Resisting all known forms of treatment so far. But we'll get it eventually. We're making progress. You know how determined Mirilent can be; I never met a virus that could stand up to her for long."

"Right," replied Obi-Wan softly. He closed the comm link and then spent the next thirty seconds wondering why Varqa had volunteered so much commentary in response to such a simple original question. Was something wrong at the Temple, something that was not being revealed to those not currently in residence?

He almost placed a second call, demanding to speak with someone on the Council. But then he realized there would be Council members present today at the Summit, as matters concerning galactic security were scheduled for discussion. He would make a point of speaking to them as the day wore on.

Suddenly, as he sat cradling the child in his arms, he was struck with the idea that his existence had become a series of endless storms, all circling around him, but all, somehow, connected. And, as he confronted each of them, another moved in to take its place.

_Darkness, Obi-Wan. All rise from darkness. You are - and must be - the light._

The young Jedi smiled.

_Very poetic, Master. And cryptic enough to please even Master Yoda._

The gentle chuckle was almost musical. _You don't expect me to make it easy for you, do you?_

"Easy," he echoed absently, his eyes sweeping the corners of the ceiling above him. "I wonder. . ."

He once more activated his comm-link.

"Security command post," said a disembodied voice - Reeft's disembodied voice.

"Reeft, are the holo cameras in all these suites working?"

"Top o' the mornin' to you, too, Boss. And the answer is, I don't know. We haven't been monitoring them. Diplomats tend to get a little squirrelly when they think somebody might spot them in their knickers - or out of them, as the case may be. The system's pretty old. It might not work at all."

"Check the one in Master Rionne's quarters. Specifically, in the smaller bedroom. Maybe we'll get lucky."

All trace of humor was gone from the young knight's tone when he replied. 

"She's still not talking?"

"No. Healers are on the way, but without some kind of evidence, and no testimony from her - we got nothing."

"OK - I'm on it. Oh, and, by the way, the big cheese - the really big cheese is looking for you. The Chancellor wants to have a chat, at your convenience. And was not at all amused when I told him you were unavailable. Obi, is it just me, or is he - a little strange?" 

Obi-Wan couldn't quite resist a grin. "As usual, it's just you. Take a look at those holo-recordings, and tell the Chancellor, if he stops by again, that I'll be with him shortly. Have you seen Garen this morning?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He wandered in, looking like he'd lost his best friend. Oh, crap, Obi. Sorry about the phrasing. But he really looks bad."

"I know," Obi-Wan replied softly. "Life sure is complicated sometimes, my old friend."

"He'll get over it." 

Obi-Wan smiled. "You really think so, or you just trying to cheer me up?"

"I don't know," Reeft admitted. "Do you ever get over a woman like that?"

Obi-Wan didn't answer.

"Oh, Man, one more foot in the mouth, and I got a natural hat trick," said Reeft, his distress plain in his voice. "Sorry, Obi."

"It's OK. All things pass, or so they tell me."

"He will get over it," Reeft said suddenly. "And he knows you as well as I do, so, whether he admits it right now or not, he knows you never would have - um, uh, um - well, you know - fooled around with someone he was in love with. It'll take him a little while. But he'll get over it. I mean, we're like brothers, right? Blood brothers. Nothing is ever going to come between us."

Obi-Wan could only hope he was right.

*************** ****************** **************

It was just before noon, Sanctuary time, when an entire cluster of lines of causality seemed to arrive, simultaneously, at some kind of emotional event horizon. Obi-Wan was in the underground gymnasium, giving Anakin his first real instruction in the use of a lightsaber, when it began, after having seen Kammian safe into the hands of a healer, made sure that Rionne would sleep a few more hours, her instructions to the contrary notwithstanding, and reviewed and set up security schedules with Ramal Dyprio for the day. He was hoping - futilely as it turned out - to spend a couple of quality, uninterrupted hours with his Padawan.

The two of them had already reviewed the moves and timing of the first kata, sans lightsabers, and Obi-Wan was struck afresh with just how easily Anakin absorbed whatever was presented to him. As they prepared to repeat the routine, this time with low-power sabers activated, the padawan wiped sweat from his brow and frowned. "Is it just me, or is it hotter than Tatooine in here?"

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Well, that's a first. Your complaining about being hot proves that wonders never cease. But you're right. Somebody must have turned up the heat."

"So can we get comfortable?" asked Anakin with a grin.

The chuckle became a laugh. "You're just looking for an excuse to lose the tunic." It had been patently obvious from day one that Anakin was not fond of all the layers of clothing that made up traditional Jedi garb.

"OK," agreed Obi-Wan, amused by the pout on his Padawan's face. "Just this once."

Anakin grinned and started to remove his tunic. Then he paused. "You, too," he said. "I'm not going to be half naked by myself."

With a shrug, Obi-Wan shucked his tunic. "Master Yoda would not approve."

Anakin's smile grew slightly venal. "Too bad the Queen's handmaidens aren't around. Their tongues would be hanging out already."

Obi-Wan frowned slightly. It wasn't that he didn't like the idea of being teased by his padawan. The gods knew, he himself had driven Qui-Gon to distraction sometimes, with teasing that was a lot more relentless. It was rather that the image the boy chose to create was distinctly unflattering to the young women in question. It seemed, somehow, mean-spirited - something he definitely didn't want to encourage. Still, in the end, he let it go, considering it too trifling to address.

**************** ****************** **************

The basement gymnasium in the palatial residence had once, long ago, been used for spectator sports, and thus was equipped with both rows of tier seating, and several private boxes, from which the mighty might observe the activities of lesser beings. Within one of those boxes, the Supreme Chancellor stood, cloaked in the gloom of the enclosure, and smiled as he watched the Jedi performance below him. As Kenobi removed his tunic, the Dark Lord shuddered, and allowed himself a tiny excursion through the Darkside of the Force - a fleeting stroke of that sculpted chest, that the young Jedi would register as nothing more than a wisp of frigid air. Regretfully, nothing beyond that brief touch was possible for now; the duties of the Chancellor's office demanded his momentary attention.

Still, he reveled in the sight of his young champion; the one who would, one day soon, kneel before him and swear eternal fealty; would defend him from all who defied him. How sweet would be that victory - and sweeter still, for having taken him from the hated Jedi! What glorious pleasure would be his when that lovely, young flesh was his to use as he saw fit! The young Jedi would be his ultimate conquest and would be rewarded with ecstasies beyond the imagining of most mortals.

A whisper of sound from the depths of the darkened box recalled him from his reverie.

"Is it prepared?" Palpatine asked.

"Yes, my lord." The initiate was nothing if not efficient.

"And how will it be presented to him?"

"Unnecessary. He has already requested it. He has a very logical mind."

"Indeed. Most impressive. Are we sure of the quality? Will it stand up under his inspection?"

"According to every test we put it through. Unless there is some kind of Jedi test that we know nothing of."

Palpatine considered. "No. If such a test existed, it would be completely subjective. Compelling, perhaps, from his standpoint, but hardly sufficient to contradict the evidence."

There was a whisper of a sigh from the initiate. "Are we then ready, my lord?"

"You grow impatient, my initiate. Is something bothering you?"

"No, my lord. It is just difficult to maintain distance."

The dark lord smiled, and said in a silken voice, "I warned you that he would tend to influence you. Have you doubts?"

"No doubts, my lord, but . . ."

"But?"

"I would like to . . ."

The voice of Darth Sidious suddenly surged to replace the more dulcet tones of Chancellor Palpatine. "You will not touch him. Do you understand?"

The sigh grew louder. "I understand, my Master."

Having made his point, the dark lord grew magnanimous. "Be grateful, Child, that I am feeling generous. Else I would be forced to punish your impertinence."

"I ask forgiveness, Master."

"Umm," the Chancellor mused, his eyes once more devouring the young Jedi below. "I suppose the cause is sufficient. Nevertheless, remember your place. And perhaps, just perhaps, he will have use for you, after he has pledged himself to me."

"Thank you, my lord."

Malice glowed in the dark lord's eyes. "Come, Child, and show me how you would entice him. If you amuse me sufficiently, I may recommend you to his attentions, when the time comes."

As he sought his physical release - so necessary to one obsessed with power - his eyes never left the tableau laid out beneath him, and the young Jedi at its center.

******************** ******************** ***********

Before beginning the new kata, both Master and apprentice took a moment to meditate, to center themselves. Then, at Obi-Wan's signal, they moved to face each other, lightsabers ignited and set at low power - strong enough to sting, (rather a lot), weak enough to do no permanent damage. The Master rocked easily from foot to foot, and waited for the padawan's first move. The first volley was a timing exercise, emphasizing balance and footwork, and Anakin moved through it flawlessly, his energy and raw power a perfect compliment to his Master's grace and finesse.

As Anakin's bright yellow practice blade was deflected by Obi-Wan's countermove with his own emerald blade, there was the sound of applause, from a single spectator.

Obi-Wan signaled his padawan to pause, and turned to greet the new arrival. Garen looked more himself today, in classic Jedi garb, but nothing could diminish the intensity of the cold glare in his eyes.

"Well done, young _Master,_ " he sneered. "But, of course, it would be, wouldn't it? When did our young _master_ ever do anything other than well done?"

"I looked for you," said Obi-Wan quietly. "This morning."

"Of course you did," came the reply. "It was the noble thing to do, after all, wasn't it? And Obi-Wan always does the noble thing."

"Master?" said Anakin softly, uncertainly, sensing raging undercurrents in the Force, but knowing nothing of their cause.

"It's okay, Ani. Garen and I have a few things to discuss. Maybe you should go grab some lunch."

"No," said Garen abruptly. "I think he should stay. He has a right to know what kind of Master he has. Don't you agree?"

Anakin might not know what this was about, but he knew sarcasm when he heard it. "I know what kind of Master I have," he shot back. "The best kind."

Garen actually laughed. "Of course you do. The very best. The one who's so good, and so pure and so noble that everyone must love him."

"Garen, I didn't . . . "

 _"Don't you think I know that!"_ It was more than a shout; it was a cry from the heart. "Don't you think I know that you wouldn't? And it only makes everything worse. How can I hate the man who refused her, because of his feelings for me? How do I cope with that, Obi-Wan? If I truly love her, shouldn't I want only her happiness? So shouldn't I want her to be with you?"

The dark-haired young knight sank to a seat on a low bench, and stared at his friend of a lifetime. "Do you want to hear what she said to me? She said that I was her friend - and her lover - but that she didn't love me 'that way'. That she couldn't lie to me; that there was someone else. I didn't ask her who. I didn't have to, because I knew. You want to hear the really funny part? I always knew. Even before the two of you met, I knew. I just hoped I'd be wrong. I want to hate you. I want to hate both of you. But I don't know how. And now all I can feel is this bitter anger - and this guilt."

"You've no cause to feel guilty, Garen," Obi-Wan said gently, much to the astonishment and displeasure of his Padawan.

"Don't I? I wanted to kill you. My best friend. The man who has saved my life more times than I can count. And I wanted to kill you."

Obi-Wan nodded. "And now?"

Garen's face crumpled. "I still do. I know I'm wrong. But I can't seem to let it go."

For a moment, Obi-Wan just stood, looking down at his friend, his face a study in light and shadow. "Okay," he said finally. "If that's what it takes."

"What?"

"You want to kill me. Here's your chance."

"What are you saying?" said Garen, rising to his feet.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan's lightsaber was in his hands, ignited and glowing with full power. "I'm saying take your best shot, Lover Boy."

"You're serious?"

"As a heart attack. Now either get it up, or shut it up. Your choice."

"Master?" Anakin's tone was decidedly nervous now.

"Get out of the way, Padawan," said Obi-Wan firmly. "This could get ugly."

Garen stared at Obi-Wan for a full minute, trying to read his meaning in his eyes and his body language.

Finally, he simply shrugged off his robe, and grabbed his own lightsaber. It ignited a deep violet. "Ugly?" he rasped. "I think you can count on it."

Obi-Wan bowed slightly. "You consider yourself the aggrieved party, so make your move."

And, with that, the battle was joined.

Garen was extremely strong and extremely fast, and his technique with the lightsaber was as good as anyone in the Temple. His only weakness - if weakness it could be called - was that he had never been trained by Qui-Gon Jinn who was not only a master swordsman, but a bit of a renegade, as well. That training allowed Obi-Wan to think and act creatively, coming from unexpected directions.

However, it was soon clear that this was not a match that would be won easily or quickly by either of them. Thrust, parry, block, counterblock, Force moves, aerial acrobatics, leaps and spins, all came together in a powerful exhibition of Jedi skill. Anakin watched, eyes wide, astonished at the power and grace displayed by both combatants, and winced as random touches, by both duelists, resulted in scorched and blistered skin.

Garen launched himself into a back flip as Obi-Wan countered a downstroke, and the dark-haired young Jedi swung his lightsaber in a diagonal move that would have separated his opponent's head from his shoulders had it connected. Fortunately, from Obi-Wan's perspective, it did not. But it had come close enough to make him re-examine his reason for allowing this fight to develop. He had hoped that the progression of the duel would encourage Garen to release his anger into the Force and regain his control; it didn't seem to be working out that way. And now, both of them were beginning to tire; both, thus, more susceptible to error or misstep. If they continued at this level, one or both were going to get seriously hurt.

Taking a deep breath, and muttering a semi-prayer to the Force, Obi-Wan stepped away from his opponent, closed his eyes, brought his lightsaber up vertically in front of him, and hit the switch that deactivated it. At the exact same moment, Garen began a horizontal slash that promised to cleave his opponent in half.

(In a boxed enclosure fifteen meters above them, a dark figure stopped breathing, horrified by Kenobi's action.)

"What . . ." cried Garen, horror flaring in his eyes. With a desperation born of sheer terror, he managed - just - to adjust the trajectory of the blade, and fling it high in the air, over Obi-Wan's head. Luckily, the weapon deactivated immediately on leaving his hand, or he might have punched a huge hole in the ceiling of the gymnasium.

He turned to stare at Obi-Wan. "Why did you do that? I could have killed you."

Obi-Wan's smile was weary. "I thought that was the general idea."

Garen looked, for a moment, as if he wanted to hit something - preferably something that would bleed - really hard. Finally, though, he just shook his head. "You crazy little fucker," he muttered, breathing hard now. "How did you know I wouldn't?"

"Because I know you."

Garen raised his head and met Obi-Wan's eyes. "Yeah? Well, take it from me when I tell you, you almost joined the Force today."

"But I didn't. You don't have it in you, Garen. I know you're hurt. I know you probably hate my guts right now. But you're still Garen. You're still the best friend I ever had. You wouldn't hurt me."

"You took a devil of a chance, Friend."

Obi-Wan accepted a towel from Anakin and wiped sweat from his face and torso before looking up at Garen, who stood at least a couple of inches taller than he. "Friend?" he echoed.

Garen looked away. "Not yet, Obi. I can't - yet."

Obi-Wan nodded. "When you're ready, I'll be around."

Garen heaved a deep sigh. "You know, it would help if you could just pretend to be really obnoxious. It would be easier to hate you."

Obi-Wan looked perplexed. "If that's what you want, I'll make a point of treating you like dirt next time I see you."

"Good," said Garen. "That'll help. Maybe we should just have an old-fashioned fistfight."

Obi-Wan nodded wearily. "But not today, OK? I'm beat."

They didn't - quite - shake hands, but it was a near thing. And if there was not the customary glow of warmth and camaraderie in their eyes when they looked at each other, neither was there the ice of resentment. As Garen made his exit, they both realized that the healing would take time, but it would happen, and they were both content in the knowledge.

As Obi-Wan turned to go back to his work-out with his padawan, his comm signal beeped softly.

"Obi-Wan," said Reeft, a strange tremor in his voice, "I need you in control right now. You and Master Ramal."

"Sure, but can it wait a bit? I'm in the middle of something."

"Sorry." Again, that tremor. "Right now."

"Concerning what?" asked Obi-Wan, a vague sense of alarm rising within him.

"Just come. Right now." The vague sense became a shriek. That was definitely a near sob in Reeft's voice.

"Ani. . ."

"I know," said the Padawan. "Wait here."

"No," said Obi-Wan, somehow knowing that whatever was happening would not conclude quickly. "Get dressed, and get yourself some lunch. We'll work on more katas later."

"Something's wrong, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Obi-Wan admitted, "but I don't like the sound of it. I'll tell you about it when I can. Now go."

The young Master didn't take time to shower and change; he barely remembered to grab his tunics, and pull them on as he ran for the lift.

When he reached the security post - after a run through the palace that seemed to take forever - he met Ramal Dyprio approaching from the other direction, also at a dead run.

"Any clues?" asked the elder Master, breathing hard.

"None, except that was almost panic in his voice. And Reeft may be prone to a lot of things, but panic isn't one of them."

"Agreed."

They burst into the office together, to find Reeft staring out the window, through a narrow slit in the curtains. When he turned to face them, Obi-Wan was so stunned by his expression that he almost staggered. Whatever it was that the young knight had to tell them was bad - was beyond bad.

"Reeft?" Obi-Wan spoke softly, as if to a spooked child.

There were tears in the young Jedi's eyes, and tracks of more on his face.

"The holo-tapes, Obi," answered Reeft. "I can't believe . . . Look for yourselves. I can't."

"Where?" asked Ramal.

"In the viewer. Just activate it. It's preset to the right tape."

Guided by instinct only, Obi-Wan turned and locked the door behind him, before settling himself in front of the holo-projector.

"I almost destroyed it," whispered Reeft. "I wanted to. I almost did."

"What do you mean?" asked Obi-Wan, aghast at the thought that this friend of his childhood had almost destroyed evidence that might identify the fiend who had raped and ravaged a child. "How could you even think that?"

"Just watch," came the haunted response. "And, more important, just listen."

The holoprojection was very dark and of inferior quality, but it was quickly obvious that one of the figures in the recording was Kammian. Her hair caught and refracted even the low levels of light in the bedroom. The second figure was nothing more than a shadow, nothing revealed beyond the swirl of a cloak.

It was the girl's voice that was first audible. "Please don't. Please don't. Don't hurt me again. I won't tell anyone. Please don't."

Obi-Wan found it hard to breathe around the pain in his chest.

The girl moaned and bit off a cry, as her assailant hissed something inaudible.

Then came the sound of her sobs, muffled as if something had been placed over her face. 

The visual quality of the tape did not improve, and Obi-Wan, despite wanting more than anything to see the face of her attacker, could not help but be grateful not to have to witness what was being done to her. Violent movement was easy to discern, but all in shadow, revealing no details. The audio quality, however, was more than adequate, and hearing what was happening was almost as devastating as seeing it.

Kammian's weeping continued, lost, mournful, soul-wrenching.

Reeft moved to stand behind Obi-Wan, and suddenly reached out and laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. Just as a voice was raised - suddenly. Uttering only one sentence. Just one sentence. Eight words - pitifully little to completely devastate a life, just as shadows shifted just enough to reveal a quick glimpse of a perfect profile.

"This is my gift to your Master, Sweetheart."

And the pain in Obi-Wan's chest grew and multiplied a thousand fold.

"It can't be," he whispered. "It can't."

Reeft only nodded. "I know. But it is. You know it is. Just like I do."

Ramal Dyprio turned to look at them, and almost recoiled. He had thought he had seen pain before. But he had never seen anything like the agony blazing in Obi-Wan Kenobi's eyes.

"You know who that is, don't you?" he asked softly.

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Putting it off isn't going to help. Just spit it out."

Obi-Wan stared into the dark turmoil of the holoprojection, seeing nothing, seeing twenty years worth of everything.

"Garen," he said, his voice dead and empty. "It was Garen."

***** ********

tbc


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you've forgotten - I don't _do_ fairy tale fluff - and this chapter will prove it.

Chapter 16: The Walking Wounded

They forced themselves to watch the entire holographic recording - not once, but several times. But, in the end, it availed them nothing. Although it was perfectly possible to follow the horrible events unfolding in the shadowed images, there was only the one tiny lapse by the unseen assailant - the one moment he forgot himself sufficiently to allow his voice and one fleeting image to be caught on tape. And as the fresh youth of the day wore away into the maturity of afternoon, the emptiness within Obi-Wan grew and intensified, until all that he had known of his life and all that he had been seemed incredibly remote - and incredibly futile. For nothing that he had ever learned, no knowledge he had ever sought, was enough to show him the way through the dark labyrinth that lay before him now.

Reeft, devastated in his own right, was as silent and persistent as a shadow; he spoke not at all, but he never left Obi-Wan's side, as if hoping that his mute presence would serve as some kind of crutch for his friend to use as needed. And, in truth, perhaps his instincts were correct on some primal level, for although Obi-Wan did not want to speak to anyone - or be spoken to - neither did he want to be alone. 

Ramal Dyprio allowed both young knights as much time and space as could be spared, but, in the end, it was he who was forced to put an end to their initial period of mourning. 

"There are steps that must be taken," he said finally, not unkindly, once he realized that neither of them could or would initiate the first action.

Obi-Wan, sitting with his eyes closed and his head propped in his hands, nodded. "I know."

"Do you want me to . . ."

"No," said the younger Master firmly. "It's my responsibility."

Dyprio merely nodded his acquiescence, and, as he rose, he laid his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Bad break, Kid. I wish things could have been different. I'll handle everything else, while you sort this out."

But Obi-Wan was beyond simple comfort, and only nodded, as Dyprio left the command center.

"Reeft," said Obi softly, "do you believe he did this?"

The young knight, who had been one third of their teen-aged triumvirate for as long as either of them could remember, rubbed red-rimmed eyes with his fist. "Obi, I can't. I just can't. But what about the holotape? That's his voice. We both know that."

"I know. But I also know Garen. I would have bet my life he couldn't do something like this. In fact, I have bet my life - more than once."

Reeft flopped awkwardly into an oversize desk chair. "Could he be . . . deranged, somehow?"

Obi-Wan rose and moved toward the doorway. "I don't know, but I do know I'm going to get some answers. I won't - I _can't_ just accept this."

Reeft turned tear-filled eyes to study his friend's face. "Who's going to tell him?"

Obi-Wan took a deep ragged breath. "I am. He deserves to hear it from me."

"He tried to kill you today, you know."

"No, he didn't. If he'd wanted to kill me, I'd be dead."

Reeft stood and came forward. "Every man has his breaking point, Obi. I'll go with you."

Obi-Wan felt tears well in his eyes - again - as he contemplated his old friend. The one thing that Reeft hated - truly hated - was emotional confrontation. He could handle conflict between enemies without ever turning a hair, up to and including the unfettered hostility of a battlefield, but discord between friends made him physically ill. And yet, here he was, offering to put himself in the last place in the galaxy he really wanted to be - in order to lend moral support to his friend.

"No," said Obi-Wan. "You just man the fort for me, so I'm free to get to the bottom of this."

"What are you going to do?"

"First, I'm going to talk to the healers about Kammian's condition. Then I'm going to talk to her."

Reeft turned to stare out the window again, his eyes unfocussed. "What if they corroborate what this tape says?"

"They won't," said Obi-Wan. His voice dropped to a whisper. "They can't."

He walked out of the room, leaving his old friend staring after him. Reeft's voice was hollow and haunted with fear. "But what if they do? What if they do?"

****************** ********************* **************

When Obi-Wan arrived at Rionne's suite, he took a moment to compose himself, and to make certain that his mental shielding was functioning at peak efficiency. This was even more vital than usual, since Rionne had displayed a singular ability to penetrate his shields. Soon enough, it would be necessary to divulge all of his findings, but that time was not yet.

He found Master Silqua seated in Rionne's sitting room, nursing a cup of tea, and being interrogated by one very impatient, very agitated Jedi Master. In contrast to Rionne's obvious apprehension, the healer was the epitome of Jedi tranquillity. Obi-Wan debated just sitting back and waiting for the fireworks to begin, while pondering who to bet on, but then decided that one of his jobs - as security co-captain for this entire conference - was to avoid such confrontations whenever possible.

He silenced Rionne finally with a pointed glare, even though he felt a certain sympathy for her impatience with the twi'lek healer. 

Rionne, for her part, looked just as eager to tear him limb-from-limb - sending him a mental message that was basically a promise of retribution yet to be exacted - as to shake the smugness out of the recalcitrant healer. But Obi-Wan did have a certain advantage over most other Jedi in dealing with healers; having spent more time in their less-than-tender clutches than any other padawan in the history of the knighthood, he had learned a few maneuvers over the years that allowed him to manipulate them with a fair degree of success. Even if some of them were well aware of - and amused by - his methods.

"Master Silqua," he said softly, almost purring, "you're looking well. I heard wonderful things about your work on Corellia, with the plague outbreak in the hill country."

Rionne sniffed - loudly - while the healer beamed. "I'll have to show you the results of our research, when you have some spare time, Obi-Wan. It was quite incredible."

"I'm sure it was. Your empirical work is always exquisitely balanced. I can't tell you how happy I was when I learned you were available for this assignment."

She frowned. "You didn't ask for me," she pointed out.

"Only because I didn't know you had returned to the Temple. If I had known. . ."

She nodded, her suspicions assuaged. "Yes. I also am glad to have been available. A most interesting case."

"I'm very eager to hear your findings, " he said, ignoring the shrill, acidic little voice in his head that was accusing him of all manner of vile things, including being the biggest schmoozer of all time. Without ever taking his eyes from the face of the healer, who was, by this time, practically glowing under his attentions, he slid his hand behind the sofa cushions over to where Rionne was sitting, and administered a quick, but solid little pinch to her backside.

She covered an aborted squeal with a quick cough.

"How is Kammian?" asked Obi-Wan, ignoring Rionne's simmering anger.

"Healing, now," replied the healer. "And, incidentally, for an amateur, you did a pretty fair job on her. I guess all those hours you spent receiving healing Force taught you how to infuse it pretty well."

"Have you gauged the extent of her injuries?"

She nodded, and, for the first time, lost her Jedi aplomb. "Whoever did this was worse than an animal, Obi-Wan. She was bruised and torn in every orifice - vaginally, anally, orally. In addition to the beating she took. He almost killed her, in more ways than one. Apparently, one of his methods to subdue her was to strangle her as he reached orgasm. One of his orgasms, anyway."

"One?" snapped Rionne. "How many did the bastard have?"

"At least two. Possibly three. This attack went on for an extended period. Probably at least two hours."

Rionne's face went slack, as a mental picture rose in her mind, and Obi-Wan thanked whatever gods might be watching over them that she knew nothing of the holocamera that had recorded the entire tragedy.

"When I spoke to her earlier," he mused, "she indicated that this might not have been the first time he attacked her. Did you find evidence of prior abuse?"

She sighed. "I can't be sure. Although I can tell you that she was almost certainly not a virgin, prior to this last attack. No evidence of recent hymen rupture. That's not completely definitive, of course - but it's a pretty safe indicator, especially at her age. There are a number of old injuries, that might be the result of such an attack, but she is, after all, a Jedi Padawan, and, as such, physical injury is hardly out of the ordinary. You can certainly attest to that, Obi-Wan."

His smile was self-deprecating and concealed a wealth of annoyance with all healers' propensity to adopt a proprietary attitude toward his somewhat unique medical history. 

"Was there physical evidence?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "Of course. He was reasonably cautious, but, under these circumstances, even a Jedi would have been unable to avoid leaving physical traces. Though he apparently withdrew prior to ejaculation - and possibly used a condom, as well - still there was a certain amount of pre-ejaculate seminal fluid leakage. I also recovered some epithelial cells and some pubic hairs. There's plenty of evidence."

He chose not to respond to her obvious assumption that this could not possibly have been done by a Jedi. "And starting the fire, and her earlier lightsaber attack on me?"

"Cries for help, obviously. She refused to speak to me, for the most part, so I can only assume that she was being threatened to force her to keep silent. So she struck out in the only way she could. And it also undoubtedly served to allow her to channel some of the enormous anger she was being forced to conceal. All in all, it's probably nothing short of miraculous that she didn't actually kill someone." She paused and focused a speculative look on Obi-Wan. "But, of course, she may have been distracted from her more violent urges." 

"Any preliminary findings?" he asked, careful to maintain a neutral tone.

She shrugged. "Human. Male. Adult or near adult, judging from the estimated size of the genitalia. As I said, there's a wealth of evidence - forensically speaking - but without something to match it to . . . "

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and refused to contemplate the individual thoughts skittering across the surface of his mind. "Let me worry about that," he replied. "Can the evidence be processed here? On Sanctuary?"

She nodded. "No reason why not. The tests are simple, and I daresay the palace has the necessary equipment on site."

"Excellent," said Obi. He mused in silence for a moment.

"Rionne," he said finally. "Would you see if you can reach Gragg, and ask him to come up here immediately?"

Rionne - for just a fraction of a second - looked like she might want to argue, or to question his judgment, but in the end, she did as he asked.

Obi-Wan let his eyes drop to the locked specimen case that sat at the healer's feet, and suppressed a shudder as he tried not to speculate on the future that would be generated by the evidence locked within the vials and envelopes tucked away therein. He rubbed a weary hand across his face, and noted idly that he needed a shave almost as badly as he needed a shower - but he was unlikely to get either in the short term.

"Can I see her?" he asked finally, almost wishing that the healer would forbid it. But she didn't, of course. She was accustomed to accommodating the needs and desires of Jedi knights, unless doing so would violate the premises of the healers' code. This didn't. 

When he rose and started toward Kammian's bedroom, Rionne was right behind him. He closed his eyes briefly, then turned to face her. "I need to speak with her alone," he said, gently but leaving no room for discussion.

"In your dreams," she replied. "I've been locked out of this mess for entirely too long. She's my padawan, Obi-Wan. You don't have the right."

He laid a hand on her shoulder, resisting the need to caress her face. "I do, if it's in her best interest. And, just for this moment, I think it is."

She stared at him, and he was conscious of a tendency to squirm under her gaze. "What are you hiding from me?" she asked in a near-whisper.

But he shook his head. "It's up to Kammian to tell you what she wishes you to know. Not me."

"No. This isn't about her privacy. There's something else."

He tried to swallow the lump that rose in his throat. With every fiber of his being, he was hoping that forensic findings - and Kammian herself - would contradict the evidence on that damning holotape, and that Rionne would never have to be told what the recording showed. He didn't even want to try to guess what it would do to her to face the possibility that her lover had done this ghastly thing to her padawan.

He ultimately elected to simply ignore her speculation. "It won't take long. Then you can talk with her as much as you like. But I need a few minutes. Please."

She saw a terrible darkness in his eyes, so terribly dark that it almost seemed to obscure the pure radiance of his own life force. "You're going to have to tell me the truth, Obi-Wan. All of it."

"I know," he sighed. "But I need you to trust me, just a little further."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door, announcing Gragg's arrival.

Allowing no one else a chance to say anything, Obi-Wan scooped up the specimen case and handed it to the apprentice healer. "DNA testing," he said softly. "I assume you're trained for it."

"Of course. That's basic training at the Temple."

Obi-Wan reached out through the Force and nudged the young man toward the door. Both Rionne and Master Silqua watched him curiously as he accompanied the apprentice out into the hall. "Basic identity tests," he said softly, pulling the door closed behind him. "Be meticulous, but don't get fancy. Elementary tests."

Gragg nodded, but regarded him curiously. "I can run tests forever; I can even give you basic physical traits: hair, skin and eye color, etc. But without actual comparative samples . . ."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Just leave that to me. And you keep this entirely to yourself. OK?"

"Of course. I'll wait to hear from you."

"How long?"

"Basic tests will be ready in an hour or so. Comparisons - once we get samples - are almost instantaneous."

"Good," replied Obi-Wan. "I'll get back to you shortly. Just be very, very careful."

"Always," said Gragg, slightly puzzled by the young knight's insistence. He had no way of knowing it was simply a hedge against an error that would confirm a fact that could not - must not - be true.

*************** ********************* *******************

"Kammian." He called her name tentatively, as if uncertain if she would deign to answer.

She didn't, verbally. She just rose from the bed where she was sitting and walked toward him, stopping well within the sphere of what he regarded as his personal space. She was close enough that she had to lean her head far back to gaze up into his face.

"Kammi, I've come to ask your help. You must end your silence, and speak to me."

She remained mute, simply staring up at him for a moment. Then - very abruptly - she reached up and clasped her arms around his neck, jerking his head down as she rose on tiptoe.

Obi-Wan recoiled, stunned both by the suddenness of her action and her unexpected strength. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't that obvious?" she replied, her eyes glowing in the light reflected from a bank of candles flickering on a bedside table.

"Kammi, I can't . . ."

"Yes, you can," she insisted, and he was suddenly immersed in the scent of her as he felt a rush of pale fire sing through his veins. Her voice became a warm breath of sound. "There's no more need to stand on ceremony."

"Kammi, this isn't . . . "

"Isn't what? Right? There's no more right or wrong. I want you; you want me. Don't bother to deny it. Your body speaks much more honestly."

And, with an unbelievably seductive smile, she lowered her eyes to focus on the unmistakable swelling in his groin.

"Kammian," he said sternly (and he would never know how he had managed to summon up that masterful tone when his testosterone levels were shooting through the stratosphere). "Stop that. Right now."

"Why?" The single syllable contained a world of insolence.

"Because this isn't you. You're better than this."

"Better?" She laughed bitterly. "Now how would you know that? You never even bothered to look. Better. That's a laugh. Better than what? In case you didn't notice, I'm now used goods, Master. Used in the worst possible sense of the word." She moved against him, and the look in her eyes said plainly that she was fully aware of the effect of both the friction of her body against his, and of the massive amounts of pheromones she was producing to inflame his senses.

"Kammian," he said, resisting the urge to wipe sweat from his brow, sweat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, "there was a holotape of your assault."

She jerked away from him, and he watched starless, bottomless night settle into her eyes.

"A holotape?" she echoed, vaguely.

"Yes. From the security cameras."

She turned her face away from him, and it was almost as if she grew smaller and weaker before his eyes. "Then you know - who. . . " Her voice trailed away.

He sank gratefully into a chair near the terrace window, only now realizing that he had been holding his breath. "I know what the tape shows. I need you to tell me the rest - the how and the why and the when. The details."

She cringed. "I don't want to think about it."

"I know," he said gently, "and I would rather not put you through it. But it's important, Kammi. Please."

She spun back toward him, and, for a strange, twisted moment, it was as if some stranger was staring at him through her eyes - someone much older, and much colder. "You say it so prettily," she murmured. "They always know who to send, don't they? Because no one else can say 'please' in such a way as to make you willing to spill your lifeblood for him. Tell me something, Master Kenobi. You never would have - would you?"

"Kammi . . ."

"It's all right," she interrupted. "I always knew. From the very first day, I knew. From the very first minute, you could only see her. I knew - and so did he."

Obi-Wan ignored the cold fist that closed around his heart, and forced himself to speak calmly. "Kammian, you have to tell me about the attack. Please."

She shrugged. "You say you have a tape, so you know what he did."

He hardly dared draw breath. "But we don't know why."

She walked to the window seat and curled into it. "He said it was payback, because she wasn't willing to give him what he needed."

"And what was that?" he asked, managing, somehow, to keep his voice steady.

"He said she would never love him, that she always held something back. That he couldn't force her to give him everything; she was too strong. But I wasn't. He could force me."

Restless, she rose and moved to the terrace door.

He swallowed - hard - and looked down at his hands. "I need for you to name him, Kammian. You need to say it. It's - standard procedure."

She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "Why not?" she said finally. "I guess it doesn't matter now. She's going to find out anyway. It was Garen."

She reached out to part the curtains, to look out on the terrace, and was completely oblivious to the fact that, with those three simple words, she had shattered a world - and crushed a heart.

The girl gazed out past the manicured formality of the palace grounds, to the brilliance of the horizon where she could just glimpse the tops of the Mon-Davaria mountains, their peaks still iced with drifts of snow. "Have you been to Griever's Peak, Master?" she asked, still oblivious to his reaction to her words. "It's so beautiful there. And the wind racing through the rock formations sounds like thousands of young girls, all crying softly. He took me there once. I think they were crying for me. Don't you?"

Obi-Wan sat frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to - anything. For inside him, there was suddenly nothing - no life, no light, no hope, no warmth - just vast, limitless reaches of icy darkness. He felt the passing of all that he had ever held as truth, in the space of a heartbeat.

After several frozen minutes, with the silence stretching between them, Kammian seemed to realize that something was not as it should be; it was as if she were suddenly alone in the room, even though he still sat in the same chair, in exactly the same position. Nevertheless, she knew that somehow he had retreated, not from this place but from this time, into some far-off other-when. She approached him slowly, and knelt before him.

"Master Obi-Wan?"

No response. Not even a tiny flicker of awareness in eyes now gone as gray as winter rain.

"You lied to me," she breathed. "There was no tape."

He responded finally, to her words, but his voice was cold and lifeless, without inflection or meaning. "There is a tape. It just didn't reveal as much as it might have."

"So you tricked me?" There was a trace of outrage in her tone.

"I suppose I did," he answered, in that same flat, barren voice. "Sorry."

She looked up and correctly read the desolation in his eyes, as a shaft of afternoon sunlight washed his silhouette with strokes of gold. Somehow, it was reminiscent of garish cosmetics applied to a dead face, no longer capable of coy smile or bitter frown. There was, for the moment, no trace of the life force within him. "I told you, you wouldn't believe me. You should have just let it alone."

"I couldn't do that."

She shook her head in disbelief. "So are you happy now?"

"No," he murmured, with the inflection of a lost child. "No."

She tried to lower her head enough to force him to look into her eyes, but he wasn't having any of it. "You blame me," she said, suddenly angry. "Don't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said absently.

"I'm Cirsean," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Human males have a hard time resisting Cirsean females. Obviously, he couldn't."

"Don't do that," he said sharply, coming back slightly into the moment. "Don't blame yourself for someone else's actions."

"But you wish you'd never met me - that he'd never met me. Don't you?"

He drew a deep ragged breath. "I wish this had never happened to you."

She threw herself forward suddenly, forcing him to catch her, forcing her body tight against him.

"Make me feel better, Obi-Wan," she plead softly, her lips grazing his throat, squirming so that he was instantly aware of her firm young breasts crushed against his chest and the heat of her supple body, attempting to mold itself even more closely to his. "Let me make it better for you. Let me make you forget, while you make me forget."

"Kammian, I can't," he said, struggling to stand and setting her firmly on her own feet.

She drew back and slapped him - extremely hard, and her seductive tone swelled to a shrewish shriek. "I need you. I need you to make me whole again. What do I have to do? Unless I get assaulted - or set something on fire - or attack you with a lightsaber, you don't even see me."

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. "I do see you," he insisted. "And what I see is a lovely young girl, with a whole lifetime ahead of her. You have all the time in the world. Why must you force this?"

"No," she said wearily. "I had all the time in the world. Now I've got nothing."

He regarded her solemnly. "You're a Jedi. Nothing can take that away from you."

Something - pale and nebulous - moved in her eyes. "Yes, of course. I'm a Jedi. That will have to be enough, won't it?"

He nodded, but she wasn't quite finished yet. "Of course. But tell me, Jedi Master." She stepped closer and thrust her face close to his. "Is it enough for you?"

************* **************** ******************

Foolish questions from a foolish child, he thought, as he made his way through the dim coolness of a silent corridor. He had managed to avoid an encounter with Rionne on leaving the suite, but he was having less success ignoring the issue her padawan had raised. Being Jedi was enough - had always been enough. Would always be enough. Through every trial, every trauma, every tragedy, every tribulation, it had been his anchor and his lifeline. It had compensated for every loss, consoled every hurt, assuaged every doubt. It was more than a philosophy, more than a way of life; it was who he was, and all he had ever wanted to be. And if it required that he forego the pleasures and rewards pursued by those with no connection to the Force, then so be it.

 _But how much,_ said a doggedly persistent little voice, _can a man endure and continue to be the same man?_

He paused for a moment, catching a glimpse of himself in a decorative mirror, and peered deep into his own eyes, dark with memory. So many losses. So many names. So many spirits that lived now only in his memory. Cerasi. Bant. Tahl. 

Even Bruck, and Xanatos had left an emptiness within him. And, of course, the last name on that list. The fresh wound - the one that he knew would never entirely heal - the one that still throbbed in his soul, even though that precious presence had found its way back to him, through the Force. But it was not the same, and it was useless to pretend otherwise. Accessing his lost Master was not and never would be as simple as passing from one room to another, and lifting his voice. Contact, forevermore, would be at the discretion of the Master, and while he had no doubt that any desperate cry for help would be answered, he had no way of knowing what form that response would take. Nor could he be entirely sure that the contact between them, which seemed so warm and intimate now, would continue to be as strong and sweet; with time and distance, the link might become tenuous, or even be lost altogether. 

For a moment, he had an odd sense that events had somehow narrowed around him, as if he were caught in a funnel, drawing ever nearer to some kind of defining moment that would alter his perception of reality for all time. Then he shook his head, and smiled at his inflated sense of his own importance. It was the height of hubris to assume that everything happening around him was happening to him, specifically. Yet the notion persisted, and, for a breathless moment, a frisson of dread trailed icy fingers along his spine, as he briefly entertained a vague impression of ribbons of destiny coiling around him.

Once more, he shook his head, as if to clear it of mists of fancy. He was tired, and he had endured too much of late, and slept too little.

Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight, he would sleep. And, maybe, he would even be lucky enough to do so without the dreams that usually disturbed his slumber. Unbidden, an image from those dark dreamscapes flared in his mind; an image of Garen, bloodless and forlorn, lost and empty, and reaching for a bond that no longer existed.

"No," he breathed softly. "It's just a dream, and the bond is unbroken. No matter what."

****************** ****************** *******************

The palace infirmary looked more like an indoor garden than a medical facility - décor undoubtedly adopted to avoid offending the tender sensibilities of the cream of high society. Necessary instrumentation was concealed in armoires and cabinets camouflaged with murals of natural splendors, and sun-dappled fountains, and tropical landscapes featuring exotic birds with brilliant plumage, and flowers in size and hue that never existed in nature. More substantial equipment, and treatment centers where such camouflage would be both offensive and counter-productive, were secreted behind louvered doors, and that was where Obi-Wan found Gragg Runoz.

The young knight hardly bothered to conceal his weariness as he collapsed onto a small bench and looked up at the medical apprentice. "Results?"

Runoz nodded. "As promised. Male human, mid to late twenties, dark hair, dark eyes, olive complexion. Tall - probably taller than you. Probably slender, but well-muscled."

Obi-Wan was impressed. "You got all that from DNA samples?"

Gragg smiled. "Given time, I could give you a lot more. But I don't think that's necessary, is it?"

Obi-Wan rubbed his face with both hands, trying, futilely, to wipe away some of the mental fog that seemed to be creeping into his thoughts. "Meaning?"

"Meaning you know who it is. Don't you?"

"I know who it's reputed to be," answered Obi-Wan sternly. "That's not necessarily the same thing."

Runoz grimaced. "Get me a sample, and we'll know."

But Obi-Wan, though he liked Runoz - and tended to trust him - was not about to place the reputation of anyone, much less his childhood friend, in the hands of anyone other than himself. The risk was just too great.

"Isn't there another way?" he asked. "A portable test that I can administer - that will confirm or deny the identity?"

The apprentice healer didn't look terribly pleased with the idea, but, finally, he nodded. "There is, but it's not foolproof. You'll have to be very careful. And you'll still need to confirm the results later on - with a DNA scan."

Obi-Wan nodded his agreement. "Fine. Just give me the test, and tell me what to do."

Runoz went to a nearby work station, and spent several minutes consulting a computer display while pouring various liquids and powders into a glass tube, mixing a compound which he then transferred into a tiny syringe.

"This should do it," he said, as he handed the syringe to Obi-Wan. "Just point and click. The palm of the hand is easiest, but almost anyplace where the skin is exposed will do. If the fluid turns blue, you've got a match."

Obi-Wan nodded his thanks as he rose to depart, but then he paused. "Gragg, I want you to contact the Temple for me. Tell them we need a soul healer up here. Kammian needs more help than any of us can provide."

"Right away, Sir."

A speculative gleam rose in blue-green eyes. "Have you spoken to Mira today?"

"No. I hear she's still knee-deep in her research on this virus thing."

Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh, and smiled. "I can't believe it, but I actually miss the screech of her voice."

Gragg looked as if he thought Obi-Wan might be suffering from some form of dementia. "You will be careful, won't you?" he asked, as Obi-Wan headed for the door.

The young knight paused, hearing an inflection in the apprentice's voice that seemed not quite as it should be.

"Why would I need to be careful?" he asked levelly, meeting Runoz' eyes with a steady gaze.

The young healer looked away. "I ran a midi-chlorian count."

Obi-Wan's voice went deathly cold. "Now, why would you have done that?"

"A hunch. That's all."

"Ummm, and your hunch paid off. Is that what you're saying? What was the count?"

"Just over 14,500, Master Obi-Wan. Jedi level."

 _Don't think about it,_ said the insistent little voice in his head---the one he was growing less fond of with every passing day. _You know Garen's count, but don't think about it._

Instead, he narrowed his eyes and regarded the young healer. "Gragg, that may or may not be material to this investigation, but, until I make that determination, I would strongly advise you to keep your data - and your hunches - to yourself. Clear?"

"Completely, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan, satisfied that he had made his point, turned to go, but not before catching a glimpse of something that might have been resentment in Runoz' eyes, overridden with an unwillingness to risk the displeasure of the order's resident Sith killer.

Oh, well. It wasn't as if he hadn't offended anybody else in the course of this interminable day. What difference would one more make?

********************** ****************** *************** 

Once he was back in the corridor, he activated his comm-unit. "Reeft, you there?"

"Where else would I be," came the instant response, "but here waiting for the bad news?"

"What makes you so sure it's bad?"

"If it were good, I'd have sensed it. You'd have lit up the Force like a star gone nova."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Good point."

"So it's confirmed?"

"Partly. Kammian ID'd him."

"Oh, gods!" Reeft's response was no more than a whisper. "What now?"

"Do you know where he is?" Obi-Wan asked, struggling to keep his tone steady.

"He was in the stables earlier. A few of the pegei were injured slightly during the fire, and he's been helping out with their treatment."

"OK. That's where I'll be then."

"Obi?"

The young Master drew a deep ragged breath. He didn't know exactly what it was that he heard in Reeft's voice, but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like it. "What is it?"

"I know this has probably been one of the worst days of your life, and I hate to make it worse. But there are Council members here, waiting for us to deactivate the dampening field so they can land."

"Who?" asked Obi-Wan wearily.

It was Reeft's turn to breathe deep. "Mace Windu, and Master Yoda."

"Son of a Sith," said Obi-Wan, enunciating with great care. "The Force hates me."

"Obi, they know. They saw Master Ramal's prelim reports, and they asked. I couldn't lie to them."

"No, of course, you couldn't." He thought for a minute. "OK. Listen up. I need you to stall for a few minutes, my friend. I've got to talk to him, before anybody else gets to him. Can you - take your time deactivating the field?"

"What do you think I've _been_ doing?" came the exasperated reply. "I managed, somehow, to lose the decryption code for the program, so the computer is generating random numbers until it cracks the code, digit by digit. But it won't be long now."

"You lost it?" Obi-Wan couldn't quite suppress a weary smile. "Really? How'd you manage that?"

"I - uh - well, I sort of - ate it."

"You _ate_ it? Reeft, not even you could eat a data chip."

"It got stuck in my sandwich, OK. You know me: when I'm nervous, I eat. When I'm sad, I eat. When I'm scared, I eat. When I'm breathing, I eat. So I ate."

"OK. OK. Whatever. Just keep it going long enough. He can't hear it from someone else."

"I know." There was no camouflaging the desolation in the young knight's voice. "But don't dawdle, Obi. When Master Yoda starts to screech, I'm gonna cave in. You know?"

Obi-Wan's eyes were suddenly suspiciously bright. "What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?"

He felt a great swelling of warmth as Reeft's goofy laughter erupted from the link. "You probably turned your mother old and gray by the time you were two."

"Probably," agreed Obi-Wan. "OK. So just hold on as long as you can. And alert me when they're landing. I want to see them before anyone else."

Reeft harumphed loudly. "Pardon me for asking," he said finally, "But does the term 'glutton for punishment' mean anything to you? I mean, geez! Don't you at least have an urge to run away and hide?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "If I gave in to it, Buddy, I might never stop running."

Once again, Reeft's voice was thick with unshed tears. "I know, Obi. I know."

************** *************** **************

If Garen had not been preoccupied with trying to calm the pegei colt in his grasp, he would have been aware of Obi-Wan's approach immediately. But, as it was, he was too focused on subduing the dappled youngster and applying a viscous ointment to a patch of roughened skin along its neck, to notice much beyond the moment. Obi-Wan hesitated in a shadowy recess of the great stable and stood watching as the friend of his childhood worked to soothe the frightened animal. 

Insofar as he knew, no one had ever gone so far as to label the three members of their infamous triumvirate with indelible - if completely imaginary - placards, but, if someone had, it wasn't difficult to project what those labels might have said. Reeft would have been the funny one: the easiest with a smile or a joke, the fastest to laugh at his own foibles. Obi-Wan would have been the instigator: the one who lead the pack, would always lead the pack, and would forever carry the weight of the Jedi on his shoulders. But Garen? Garen would have been the quiet one: the still waters that somehow gentled the occasional raucous laughter of the one, while providing the subtlest buoyant support for the other.

Obi-Wan knew he should hurry; knew the time was getting desperately short. Yet still he stood silent, as Garen - tall and lanky and sometimes slightly awkward - became all grace and purpose as he stroked the panicky pegei with outsized hands, now steady and gentle and moving with certitude. For as long as Obi-Wan could remember, this youth, now grown to manhood, had possessed this singular talent, this ability to reach a total rapport with creatures of all kinds. It was as if they sensed the tender and gentle heart within him.

Garen released the colt and watched as it gamboled out into the sunlit stableyard. Then he turned and saw Obi-Wan. And something in his eyes grew black and still, where once there had been only warmth and joy. Obi-Wan saw that cancerous darkness swell, and the cold fist grasping his heart clenched tighter.

"We need to talk," he said softly.

"Yes, we do."

"I've been to see Kammian."

"How is she?"

"Not good. Angry. Confused - messed up."

"Was she badly injured?" His voice was rough, heavy textured.

"Yes. She was."

Garen shook his head, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "How could anybody do that?"

"I don't know, Garen." Obi-Wan fought to keep the tremor out of his voice. "How could they?"

Garen looked up suddenly. He knew Obi-Wan too well to miss the strange inflection in his voice. "What do you mean?"

Obi-Wan turned to stare out into the sunlight, as he drew the syringe from his pocket. "I need for you to give me your hand, Garen."

"My hand?"

Obi-Wan turned back and faced him squarely, and held up the syringe.

Suspicion flared, then settled in Garen's eyes. "What is this, Obi-Wan?"

"It's a DNA test."

"For what?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and desperately sought his center, fighting for serenity.

"For what?" Garen repeated.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and regarded his oldest friend dispassionately. "She's identified you as her attacker, Garen."

The young knight almost smiled - Obi-Wan saw it tremble on his lips - then realized that Obi-Wan would never jest about such a horrible accusation. "That's not possible," he said softly.

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath. "But it's true. I need to sample your DNA."

And at that moment, something within Garen simply - died. Simply stopped breathing and stopped being and stopped connecting to the friend of his childhood. In the place of a bond that had functioned throughout all the years of his memory, only silence dwelt now.

After a long, breathless pause, Garen nodded, and, in a voice unlike any he had ever used before, said, "Sure, Obi. You can have a sample. But you have to answer my question first."

Obi-Wan waited.

"Do you believe it? Do you believe what she said?"

"Garen, I can't. . ."

"You can't what? Answer me? Can't show bias? Can't harbor any preconceived notions? Is that what you're trying to say, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan simply looked at him, and Garen gazed into the depths of his friend's eyes, looking for an answer that was not immediately discernible.

Abruptly, Garen lunged forward and shoved Obi-Wan back toward the stall behind him. He pushed sharply, jabbing with his palms.

"Stop it, Garen," said Obi-Wan, more annoyed than angry.

"Stop what? Stop this?" And he shoved him again, harder, more violently. Obi-Wan stumbled back.

"What are you doing?"

Garen stalked forward. "I want to see," he said, through clenched teeth, "if you're really in there somewhere. I want to see if Obi-Wan Kenobi still lives in there, or if that perfect Jedi façade is all that's left."

And, for a third time, he reached out to push - but this time, Obi-Wan fended him off, deflecting his outstretched hands.

"Stop it, Garen."

"Do you still bleed, Obi? Or, if I scratch that perfect Jedi surface, is there only more surface underneath?"

"You know the answer to that," Obi-Wan said hoarsely.

"No, I don't!" Garen's soft voice rose to a bellow, as he drew back his fist and swung at Obi-Wan's jaw, connecting solidly. And the young Master, being completely unprepared for the suddenness and strength of the blow, went down like a felled sapling, and came up like an uncoiling spring.

"So," said Garen, dark eyes glinting with flecks of fire, "you can still bleed."

Obi-Wan wiped a trail of scarlet from the corner of his mouth with a swipe of the back of his hand. "Satisfied?" he asked flatly.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I didn't think I had to."

Garen stood perfectly still and stared at the young man who had been the center of his life for as long as he could remember, and that's when Obi-Wan swung, putting all his weight behind it, and felt rather than saw the skin covering Garen's cheekbone split beneath the force of the blow.

With a wordless howl, Garen tackled Obi-Wan around the waist, and they both went down, and rolled across the stable's dirt floor, each straining to gain some sort of leverage against the other, but neither succeeding very well. Finally, they both rolled up to their knees, and squared off, trading jabs and hooks and roundhouse swings, each going down repeatedly but always coming back for more. In a very short period of time, both were bloodied and bruised; both realized that they were involved in something neither could effectively finish; and both were too stubborn to simply give in and stop.

Until they suddenly had no option.

"Stop this immediately, you will!" came the familiar roar, and the two combatants felt themselves lifted and tossed in opposite directions, both coming up - solidly - against a stable wall. 

"What," said the other, equally familiar, equally livid voice, "is the meaning of this outrage?"

Masters Yoda and Windu strode into the center of the stable, and Obi-Wan would not have been surprised to see lightening bolts shooting from their eyes, so incensed were they both. _So much for legendary Jedi calm,_ he thought.

"Expect calm, do you?" demanded Yoda, his ears twitching rapidly. "Remember your place, young Master! Calm, the answer is not, when Jedi knights behave like ruffians. Explain yourselves, you will."

Both Obi-Wan and Garen scrambled to their feet, and stood quietly, heads bowed respectfully.

"Your silence will not serve you now," said Mace Windu. 

"I beg your forgiveness, Masters," said Garen suddenly. "It was my fault."

"No," said Obi-Wan wearily. "It was both of us. We lost control."

"Humph!" grumped Yoda. "Call this losing control, do you? Call this a brawl, you should. Look at yourselves."

The two young knights raised their heads and regarded each other solemnly, each taking inventory of the various cuts, bruises, swellings, contusions, and general mayhem visible on the other. And Obi-Wan saw - at the exact same instant that Garen saw - the spark of laughter rise in his opponent's eyes. Neither gave in to it; under the circumstances, it would have been only slightly less suicidal than falling on one's own lightsaber; but each looked away abruptly, not daring to continue the eye contact.

Instead, Garen - with a gaze that focused anywhere except on Obi-Wan's face - simply extended his hand and said, "Just give me the damned syringe."

"I dropped it," replied Obi-Wan, scanning the floor with eyes that were now almost tearing with suppressed laughter. In analyzing how he felt, he hadn't a clue what was so funny, but he knew he dared not think about it too intensely.

Master Yoda - not nearly as oblivious to their growing quandary as they hoped - thumped his gimmer stick sharply. "Resolve this childish bickering, you must. Serious, the situation has grown."

"Yes, Master," said Obi-Wan, in complete agreement, but still having to rein in that impulse to laugh. "I apologize. I should have maintained better control."

The little green Master nodded abruptly. "Yes, you should have. On you, all others depend, for now."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and bent over to retrieve the DNA test syringe from the floor.

Wordlessly, Garen took it from him, and jabbed it into his own palm. Somehow, neither of them was surprised when the fluid immediately turned bright indigo. Garen raised his eyes and regarded his old friend solemnly. _Well, at least I don't feel like laughing any more._ Obi-Wan heard the message loud and clear.

"Garen, I'm sorry." Obi-Wan made no effort to conceal the depth of anguish in his voice.

"I know you are," replied his oldest and dearest friend. "And I'm sorry I put you through that. I know you had no choice."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and sighed, as Garen straightened himself and reached down to pull his lightsaber from his belt.

"You'll need to take this," he said firmly.

"No," answered Obi-Wan, just as firmly. "That's not necessary. Nothing is final yet."

Garen's smile was gentle, "Obi, if it were anyone else, you'd take the saber. You know you would."

"Maybe, but it's not anyone else. It's you. All I ask is that you confine yourself to your quarters - for the moment."

Dark eyes locked with sunlit blue. "Aren't you going to ask me for my word, at least?"

"No. I don't need your word."

"Young Kenobi," said Master Mace uneasily, "you might . . . ."

"Am I still in charge here, Master?" asked Obi-Wan, his eyes never wavering from Garen's face.

"In charge, you remain," said Yoda, forestalling any response Windu might have made.

"Indeed you do," said another voice - an unexpected voice in this setting - as the Supreme Chancellor came forward from the shadows. "I am imminently pleased with the job you've done, my young friend." 

"In that case," said Obi-Wan, "my decision stands. Garen, please return to your quarters. Except, you might want to stop by the infirmary on your way." There was a definite smile in his eyes.

"Right," said Garen softly. "Just like you will."

Within the bond - the bond that had almost certainly gone through preliminary death throes only moments before - a warm glow swelled to touch them both. Neither would go to the infirmary; neither would admit to being so roughly handled by anyone else. It wasn't a Jedi thing this time; it was pure human male stubbornness. 

"Knight Garen," said Master Yoda suddenly, "accompany me, you will. Need to talk, we do."

Garen sought Obi-Wan's eyes once more, and seemed to be steadied by what he read there. "Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan turned to look down at the diminutive Master, his question plain in his eyes.

"Inform you, I will," said Yoda. "Speak to both, I must."

Obi-Wan nodded. He had done all he could, for the moment. It was time to allow Master Yoda, and his legendary ability to discern truth from falsehood, to make the final determination. 

"I'll wait for you in my office," he said, turning to go.

"I wonder if I might take this opportunity to have a word with you, Master Kenobi," said Chancellor Palpatine, and Obi-Wan couldn't suppress a mild shudder when he noted that the Chancellor was actually rubbing his hands together. It was a singularly unpleasant image.

"Of course, Sir," answered the young knight, managing not to grimace. "What can I do for you?"

"Perhaps," replied the Chancellor, "we could take a tour around the perimeter, and talk at the same time."

Obi-Wan started to decline, but then realized that he probably would benefit from a brief period outside the confines of the palace. The height of luxury the vast complex most certainly was, but the young knight was surprised to recognize that he really disliked the place, even more than the events of the last couple of days could explain.

"Sure," he answered, with a glance at Yoda. The little troll nodded and walked away, Garen trailing behind him.

"This time," Palpatine continued smoothly, "you might even consider using a saddle."

******************** **************** *******************

Once more, Obi-Wan was astride the great gray pegei, which seemed to have taken a liking to him. When the trainer had gone into the field to select a mount for him and had moved toward another of the great beasts, the gray one had simply moved into the stableyard, and presented himself for saddling. When Obi-Wan indicated no objection, the trainer had simply shrugged, and followed the path of least resistance.

"Unusual," observed the Chancellor. "Pegei seldom form bonds with riders until they have been together for quite some time. Yet this one seems taken with you."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Must be a Jedi thing."

"Hmm, yes. Of course."

As the young knight and the Chancellor were born upward in the slanting rays of late afternoon sun, Palpatine was careful to remain slightly below and behind the Jedi, where his view was virtually unobstructed. Although Kenobi was currently something of a mess - black-eye, bruised jaw, cut and swollen lip - he was still exquisitely beautiful from the Sith's perspective, and he enjoyed a deep visceral pleasure from watching the young knight's thighs gripping the broad body of the pegei, and his back and shoulders flex as he controlled the great beast.

"What did you want to discuss with me, Chancellor?" 

"Discuss?" Palpatine had to force his mind to retreat from perusing the banquet of physical delights that Kenobi presented to him. "Yes, well, I first wanted to tell you how delighted I am with your handling of the security arrangements for this conference. Your performance has been exemplary."

Obi-Wan suppressed a sharp retort. What else had the man expected? "We aim to please," he said, instead.

"Of course," answered the Chancellor, his breath catching in his throat as Obi-Wan leaned forward to adjust a stirrup, his trousers tightening across his hips.

"I wanted to take this opportunity to - uh - to . . . "

"To?" Obi-Wan didn't look intrigued. In fact, he looked bored, and Palpatine was perfectly aware of the thoughts running through the Jedi's mind. Oh, but how sweet it would be when all those thoughts of boredom were just a memory, and the young Jedi's mind and eyes were opened to the incredible range of possibilities.

Palpatine drew his mount to a hover, and Obi-Wan was forced to follow suit - or be labeled rude and uncouth. He thought it might almost be worth it, but, in the end, he was ever the polite Jedi knight, and he acted accordingly. The remainder of their party - Senatorial security staffers - hovered some distance away.

"Has it occurred to you, Young Kenobi," asked the Chancellor, "that we are living in very tempestuous times? That things seem to be changing every day?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Of course."

Palpatine tore his eyes away from the boy's casual posture, and looked off toward the approaching sunset. "Tell me, young one. Do you approve of the Jedi Council's manner of dealing with the threats rising in the galaxy?"

"It's not my place to approve," replied Obi-Wan, carefully neutral.

The Chancellor smiled. "I know that must be your official response. But I hope you and I have achieved some small measure of friendship these last few days. So I ask you now, as a friend. Do you approve?" And his eyes moved back to Kenobi's face, and barely managed not to fall endlessly into those blue-green orbs.

In the meantime, Obi-Wan was thinking. _Friends? He thinks we're friends? How pathetic is that?_ "Chancellor, I don't think this is a discussion we should be having. I'm grateful that you apparently think my opinion is worth soliciting, but I really don't have one."

"Of course. Loyal to the end, aren't you?" He moved his hand in a strange manner, and Obi-Wan felt a chill crawl up his spine.

"Pardon me? What end?"

But the Chancellor was smiling again - his customary, slightly oily smile. "Just a figure of speech," he replied. "Nevertheless, I wanted to make you aware that, should you ever develop - um, shall we say - substantial differences with the Jedi Council, you will always have a place to go. You will always be welcome on my staff."

Obi-Wan looked almost as bewildered as he felt. Now where in the world had that come from? Nevertheless, he was determined to end this discussion in a civil manner. "Thanks for your concern, Sir."

Palpatine merely nodded, then turned in his saddle and gestured off toward the mountains to the North. "Can you see Mt. Feduvice, Knight Kenobi? It's the one with the brightest glitter at its crest."

Obi-Wan glanced north, and found the brilliant reflection of the mountain's peak. So bright was the glitter, that he was almost blinded. And then, for a moment that was so brief, it was almost non-existent, the brilliance was gone, as was the warmth of the day; for that fleeting instant, it was as if he were immersed in palpable darkness, a darkness that was ever so much more than just the absence of light, a darkness that seemed to force its way into his soul and engulf his spirit. Ghost hands - hands composed of some kind of dark matter - caressed his body, and stroked his face, and left him rimed with ice. He had never known such cold, or such desolation.

"Knight Kenobi, are you all right?" The voice seemed to come from far away. 

A hand was stroking the back of his neck, as he slumped forward - a cold hand, too much like the ghost hand of his - vision? Dream? Illusion? He didn't know, but he pulled away from that hand instinctively, as he came back to himself. The pegei beneath him was straining to pull away from the one on which Palpatine rode, which hovered much too close for either the pegeis' comfort - or Obi-Wan's.

"Are you all right?" repeated the Chancellor.

"Yes. Yes. I'm fine," the young knight managed to respond. 

"Forgive me," said Palpatine, "but you don't look fine. You look dreadful. Perhaps you should ride with me. It's a very long way down, you know."

Obi-Wan barely managed to conceal how violently he disliked that suggestion. "No. Thank you. I'm fine. Just haven't slept much lately."

Palpatine relaxed in his saddle, and allowed himself the smallest satisfied smile. Of course the young knight had not slept much of late, and it would only get worse, as time went on. The dark lord continued to watch the Jedi, from beneath lowered lids. Thus far, he had managed only tiny sips and nibbles, as appetizers for the main course that would come later; he was far from sated, but he was sufficiently intoxicated that his determination increased tenfold.

And the obsession continued to grow.

**************** *************** ****************

It was nearing dusk when Master Yoda entered the Security Control Center, and Obi-Wan and Reeft had exhausted every productive means for passing the time. When the little green troll finally made his entrance, Reeft was snoring softly, and Obi-Wan and Ramal Dyprio were engaged in a game of Sabacc that neither could win because their deck was incomplete. On a battered sofa in the small reception area, Anakin Skywalker slept the sleep of the innocent.

Obi-Wan was exhausted well beyond the leap-to-his-feet-and-demand-answers stage. He simply reached over and nudged Reeft awake, and regarded the tiny Master with feigned patience.

Yoda, in his turn, returned the young Jedi's stare, and tried to conceal the concern that welled within him. 

Master Yoda had a particular Jedi gift that few if any other Jedi shared, and that almost none were aware of - a gift that he sometimes preferred not to have. Like right now. His singular ability allowed him to see the Force strength of an individual as a kind of aura of light, the degree of that strength indicated by both color and intensity. Obi-Wan Kenobi had always generated an aura that radiated a pale, brilliant blue - indicating prodigious Force strength and beauty of character. That aura had been unchanged for as long as Yoda had known him - until now. It was still pale blue, still denoting the same lovely spirituality, but its intensity was now almost blinding, and it seemed to pulse with growing power. Yoda had no idea what these changes meant, for it had never happened before. A Jedi might grow in his ability to harness the Force; that, after all, was what Jedi training was meant to teach. But they had always assumed that the maximum level of a Jedi's Force strength was predetermined, dependent, probably, on the concentration of midi-chlorians in the individual's DNA. It appeared that Obi-Wan was about to disprove that assumption, and Master Yoda was terrified by the possibility. He tried, without great success, to channel his fear into the Force.

"Well?" Obi-Wan prompted.

"Truth, they speak," pronounced the elderly Master.

"Which one?" asked Dyprio, exchanging a puzzled look with Kenobi.

Yoda sighed. "Both."

"Both?" Now Obi-Wan did come to his feet. "Master, that's impossible. They can't both be telling the truth."

"Know, I do," replied the troll. "But each speaks the truth as he or she knows it. Neither lies."

"But how . . ."

"Know, I do not," retorted Yoda. "The truth lies in the perception. Obviously, one knows the truth, and one does not. But which is which, I cannot say."

"Great!" said Obi-Wan. "That's just great. Now what do I do?"

"Corroborating evidence, you have," observed the Master.

Obi-Wan knelt before the elderly Jedi. "Master Yoda, do you believe Garen could have done this?"

Huge, crystalline green eyes blinked slowly. "Believe you that the girl could have lied?"

Obi-Wan rubbed his face wearily. "I don't know what to believe."

Yoda sighed. "When nothing presents itself to disprove the charge - and the evidence is conclusive, as this is - then no choice, there is."

"What are you saying, Master?" asked Reeft, moving forward to stand beside Obi-Wan.

"A hearing, there must be," replied Yoda. "Before the Council. But a formality only, it is."

Obi-Wan drew a deep, shuddering breath, trying not to hear what he knew was coming.

"Expelled from the order, he will be," said the Master, so softly it was almost a sigh. "No choice is there. The possibility that he could do this, cannot be disproved, and risk another such incident, we cannot. Civilian authorities have agreed to allow us to settle this, if we act accordingly. Owe this to the child, we do."

"And Garen?" said Obi-Wan. "What do we owe Garen?"

Yoda studied the distraught young face that confronted his own. "Only justice, young one."

"But this isn't. You said yourself . . ."

"No legal prosecution will there be. Getting off lucky, he is, some would say."

"Lucky?" Obi-Wan laughed bitterly. "Lucky! Of course. Sorry about this, young Jedi, but since you can't prove that your accuser is lying, even though we don't believe that _you_ are, we're taking away everything that you ever held dear in your life, and sending you out into the galaxy to make your way alone. Tough break, Kid!"

"Sarcasm suits you not," replied the Master.

Obi-Wan rose abruptly. "You know," he said softly, "someone recently asked me if I agreed with the things the Jedi Council does. And I, like a good little Jedi, replied that it wasn't my place to agree or disagree." He regarded the tiny Master steadily. "Tonight, I'm ashamed of that answer. I'm ashamed of what we do. Tonight, I'm ashamed to be Jedi."

With that, he turned and raced from the room, leaving a stunned silence behind him.

"He didn't mean it, Master," said Reeft, in a broken, breathless voice.

"Don't bet on it," said Ramal Dyprio, looking after the young knight. "He meant it, and he was right. When did we reach the point where political expediency became more important than justice?"

"It's justice we serve," insisted Master Yoda, his tone almost surly.

"Right," said Dyprio, completely unintimidated, and Yoda was immediately reminded of moments of confrontation that had occurred between himself and another Jedi Master, one who had been every bit as determined to resist being pressured into agreement as this one. "Keep telling yourself that, Master. It may be comforting to you. But it doesn't do much for the rest of us, who keep wondering what ever happened to Jedi loyalty."

And it was Dyprio's turn to sweep from the room.

Master Yoda looked up at Reeft. "What about you?" he demanded. "Do you also wish to insult me?"

Reeft shook his head. "I'm not very good at insults, Master. I just know what I know. I never met a man more honest, or decent, or gentle than Garen. When the Order throws him out, it will be our loss - not his."

Yoda regarded the young knight with unblinking gaze and realized that his was actually the cruelest cut of all.

And from his battered sofa, Anakin Skywalker watched and learned lessons about the honor of the Jedi that he would never forget.

**************** ******************* ****************

Garen was sitting on the terrace outside his bedroom, gazing up at the looming orb of Coruscant, when a pebble came flying up from the grass below. He leaned forward and looked over the railing to see his childhood friend standing below him, holding up two glasses in one hand, and a very large, corked bottle in the other.

"Catch," called Obi-Wan softly, and levitated all of the items in his hands up to the balcony, where Garen snared them and put them on a nearby table. Seconds later, Kenobi propelled himself to the terrace, by virtue of a Force leap.

Garen regarded him with somber, shadowed eyes, but a tiny smile played around his lips. "Are we celebrating?"

"No," replied his friend. "We're getting drunk."

"We are? Why?"

Obi-Wan's response was a shrug. "Why not?"

Garen looked at the bottle. "What is that?"

"Something called Kavarian brandy," Obi-Wan answered. "According to my source, who shall remain nameless, mainly because I didn't bother to ask his name, it's very old, very smooth, and very potent. A perfect combination, don't you agree?"

"Obi, we don't usually drink."

"Right, but it hasn't exactly been a usual day. Has it?"

"Well, you've definitely got that right," Garen agreed. "It's not every day that a man gets accused of a capital crime and is faced with losing his birthright, is it?"

"No gloomy prognostications," Obi-Wan announced, easing the cork from the bottle with just a nudge of Force. "Tonight we eat, drink and make merry. Or Mary - if you have one handy." He poured generously, and presented Garen's drink with a flourish.

"You are wound up, aren't you?" said Garen with a smile. "Did you start without me?"

"Well, maybe a little," Obi-Wan admitted, collapsing into a deck chair. "I had to sample the merchandise, didn't I?"

"What if there's a security alert?" asked Garen, more than a little concerned that his friend was behaving in such an out-of-character manner.

"I am officially off duty," came the answer. "I mean, I think I've been on duty for a month, roughly. So I'm entitled to a night off. Aren't I?"

Garen took a sip of the brandy and found it as advertised. Yet it couldn't counter the bitterness in his throat.

"I'm to be expelled," he said softly. "Aren't I?"

And that was all it took. Obi-Wan deflated like a giant balloon, pricked by a giant pin. With one fluid motion, he picked up the bottle of brandy and threw it out into the night, nudging it with the Force so that it travelled so quickly, it might even have achieved orbit.

"Damn," he said softly. "I wanted a good, solid, satisfying smash."

Garen's face was a chiaroscuro of light and shadow, virtually unreadable. "It's OK, Obi."

"It is _not_ OK," Obi-Wan retorted, bitterness making his voice hoarse. "There must be some way . . . "

"There isn't. I've already thought through it."

Obi-Wan laid back in the deck chair and covered his eyes. "This is so wrong, Garen. So wrong, I can't. . . "

He never got to finish his sentence, as there was a sudden shriek from the palace grounds below them, ominously cut off and followed by complete silence.

Both Garen and Obi-Wan were on their feet and leaping over the railing before the echo of the scream died away.

"There," called Obi-Wan, spotting a pale figure lying motionless against the darkness of the grass, on the path to the stables.

"Gods," said Garen breathlessly. "It's Rionne."

Footsteps raced toward them, as others came to investigate the disturbance.

Obi-Wan knelt at the female Master's side, and lifted her up. Her eyes were dark with pain, as she cradled her arms against her abdomen. Obi-Wan looked down, and winced as he saw the scarlet explosion of blood welling from a deep slash across her belly.

"What happened?" he asked urgently. "Who did this?"

Unbelievably, she struggled to rise. "You must find her, Obi-Wan," she gasped. "She's not . . . rational. She didn't mean . . . Please, go . . . "

"Kammian did this?" he asked, trying to infuse her with healing, soothing energy.

"Yes," she admitted. "But she was just trying . . . trying to . . . get free. She didn't mean it. She slashed at me, with a vibro knife, when I - I wouldn't let her . . . Please find her . . . before . . . "

"Do you know where she's gone?" he asked.

And he saw Rionne's eyes wander to Garen's face, and go cold and deadly. "Where they cry for her," she said cryptically. "That's all she said. Hurry. She mustn't. . ."

Obi-Wan lifted her up and turned to find Ramal Dyprio right behind him. Hurriedly, but gently he placed her in Ramal's arms, before turning to speak to Garen, who was no longer there.

"The stables," said Dyprio, as he turned to hasten Rionne to the infirmary. "Better hurry."

When he got to the stables, Obi-Wan paused long enough to gaze into the bright planet-lit sky, and spotted two pegei-riders already in flight, one some distance ahead of the other. 

"Garen," he shouted, futilely, as he leapt onto the back of his customary gray stallion. "Wait."

But of course, the young knight could not wait. For Kammian had a good headstart on them, and Garen apparently knew where she was going. 

Obi-Wan's mount was very fast, and moved more surely for him, now that it was accustomed to his riding style. But still, he was hampered by not knowing exactly where Kammian was headed. He thought he remembered a remark she had made about a place where young girls wept, but he wasn't sure what that meant - or where it was. And though the light of Coruscant was sufficient to illuminate the land below him, it didn't help much in finding two tiny riders in the vastness of the sky.

The ride seemed interminable, and Obi-Wan was conscious of several areas of storm nearby, although none, so far, had appeared along the path they were following. He had finally managed to spot Garen's pegei and keep it in sight, mostly because it was bright white, and glinted in the planetlight. 

After what seemed forever, when the flatlands below them had given way to a series of canyons, plateaus, and badlands, he spotted Garen's mount as it descended. The area in which they were landing was a forbidding place, molded by the winds of millenia into strange shapes and towering obelisks.

Atop a truncated butte, Obi-Wan's pegei touched down, and stood quietly by the two already there. 

"Garen," Obi-Wan called, somehow unwilling to raise his voice.

"Up here, Obi," came the response. Obi-Wan turned and saw his friend standing at midpoint along a narrow, snakelike path that ascended to a strange, contorted rock formation.

"Where . . ."

"Quiet!" commanded a young, female voice. "If you aren't quiet, you won't hear them."

"What am I listening for?" the young Master asked, solemnly, gently.

"They're crying," she answered. "Can't you hear them?"

Obi-Wan was silent, and, suddenly, he did hear them. As the wind rose, from a pale susurration to a gentle murmur, he heard the wailing rise with it, as of hundreds of small voices, weeping like lost souls.

"I hear it," he said softly. "It's very beautiful."

"Like me," she replied, almost singing. "I'm very beautiful, or I was. Do you think I'm still beautiful, Obi-Wan?"

"Very," he answered - truthfully.

He could see her now, and he hardly dared breathe, for she was standing atop a vertical tower, that measured no more than a meter across, and that fell away into an abyss that looked bottomless.

She spun suddenly and glared at Garen. "And _you_ , Jedi. Do you think I'm beautiful, after what you did to me?"

"Kammi, I never . . ."

"Don't bother," she cried, her voice like a lash. "Don't bother. You can't put back what you took. No one can. Not even the great Draigonslayer."

"Kammi, please come down. Don't. . ."

She smiled suddenly, and Obi-Wan felt fear strike deep into his soul, as she raised her hands, and a storm broke around them. A Force storm, generated by an adolescent Force tantrum. Obi-Wan had seen a few of them in his lifetime - had even been the cause of one or two - but had never witnessed one like this.

"Garen," he shouted. "Get down. Now!"

Around them, rocks, boulders, debris of all descriptions smashed at them, as sand and gravel abraided against them. Obi-Wan shielded his eyes, and looked for Kammian, and found her, just as a wall of dislodged rock and dirt slammed into her, propelling her out and down toward certain death.

Obi-Wan had no time to reach for the Force to try to levitate her; he just leapt, and caught some part of her - her arm, he thought - and managed somehow to propel both of them into a shallow niche in the rock face beyond her original perch. He hit the back of the niche hard, and almost lost his grip, but he managed to hold on, somehow. The fact that Kammian was screaming and fighting against him didn't make matters any better. Nor, he realized with a groan, did the fact that he had just managed to splinter another rib, and, judging by the intense bolts of pain ripping through his head and the waves of nausea rising within him, he had also just achieved yet another concussion. 

"Garen," he shouted, unable to do much beyond hang on for dear life.

"I'm here, Obi."

"Can you reach her? Or can you at least knock her out, cause I'm going to lose her, if she keeps fighting me?"

Garen edged down from the cliff above them, his progress very slow against the onslaught of the continuing storm. "No luck knocking her out," he reported as he drew even with Obi-Wan. "She's too wired."

Beads of sweat stood out on Obi-Wan's face as he fought to hold on to his squirming captive. The pain in his head was preventing him from accessing the Force to augment his physical strength, so all he could do was grit his teeth, and hope his arm held out, as she continued to resist him.

Finally, Garen reached down past him, and managed to grab her free arm, but that was both blessing and curse, as his touch seemed only to spur her to greater heights of fury, and the intensity of the Force storm increased. Garen was forced to cover his head to protect himself, as fist-sized stones assaulted them from every direction. One smashed into Obi-Wan's temple, almost rendering him unconscious, and, then, one smashed into the back of Kammian's head, just as Garen lost his grip on the stone face and went tumbling. Obi-Wan managed - somehow - to snag his friend's tunic, with his spare hand - and knew a single moment of relief when the Force storm died away, as quickly as it began.

Obi-Wan looked down and wished he hadn't. The injury to his head was making him dizzy and disoriented, and even the face of his lifelong friend looked somehow distorted.

"Can you lift her up?" he asked Garen, gasping for breath, as his tortured muscles screamed their protest.

Garen gazed upward, and then looked at Obi-Wan with a strange half-smile. "Sure, Obi. Just hold on." 

He closed his eyes, and, moments later, Obi-Wan felt the strain ease on his left arm, as Kammian floated upwards. It seemed to take longer than it should have, as he didn't think they'd fallen that far, but he knew his perceptions were fuzzy, at best, so he didn't question.

"She's safely tucked away," Garen announced, after a while.

Obi-Wan looked down, and managed a weary grin for his old friend. "This one's mine," he said softly. It was a silly childhood contest, this keeping score of who had saved whom, last and most, but it was a game neither was willing to forego. 

Something bright and gleaming rose in Garen's eyes. "Not this time, Buddy."

"What?"

"Obi, I need to ask you to do something for me."

"Now?" Obi-Wan asked, disbelief obvious in his tone.

"Right now. It's the only chance I'll get."

Obi-Wan was obviously perplexed. "Better make it fast."

Garen nodded. "Will you drop your shields for me?"

"What in the . . ."

"Please. Just do it. It's important."

"I need to . . ."

"I know, but you need to do this first."

"Geez, Garen. Reeft is supposed to be the strange one. Are you enjoying dangling down there, while I'm slowly losing the use of my arm up here?"

"Please, Obi."

Obi-Wan was completely exasperated, and looked down at his friend without trying to mask it. "What the fuck!" he said finally, revealing the degree of his frustration. 

But he did as he was asked. It took longer than he thought they might have had. But he did it.

Beneath him, Garen gazed at him, and Obi Wan was assailed by a wave of love and gratitude such as he had never felt before, except maybe from his Master.

"What?" he asked softly.

"You never stopped believing. Did you?" asked Garen, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"No. You should have known I wouldn't."

"No grieving, my friend. All things work out as they should."

"What do you . . "

Garen gazed straight up, and a huge shadow seemed to rise in his eyes. "I love you, Obi," he said softly. Then he somehow reached out with the Force and pushed Obi-Wan against the back wall of his little niche, just as a huge, jagged boulder smashed down from above. It hurtled into the blackness of the abyss, carrying the already lifeless body of one Jedi knight with it. He had died with the first impact.

Obi-Wan almost threw himself after it. "No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o," he screamed, clawing at the edge of the chasm.

He never remembered the remainder of that night. Never remembered how he managed to climb to the top of the butte; how he carried Kammian down the path, and tied her securely to one of the pegei, and sent it back to the palace. Never remembered how he settled himself at the top of that butte, and sat staring out over the abyss until the return of the sun in the morning.

It was Master Ramal Dyprio who finally found him, cold, lost, shivering, unaware of where he was. The self-same Ramal Dyprio who had frequently referred to him as "Qui-Gon's perfect little prince"; who had so violently disagreed with the training the padawan had undergone; who had resented both the Master's attempts to create the perfect padawan, and the boy's attempts to achieve perfection. Ramal Dyprio, who believed that, in order to be truly Jedi, one first had to be fully human - or whatever species one happened to be born of.

It was Dyprio who approached the young Jedi, and knelt at his side, and gathered him up as if he were still a child. It was Dyprio who held him as he sobbed helplessly, unable to release his anguish and his pain into the Force, unable to do anything but weep and mourn for his lost childhood. And it was Ramal Dyprio who led him finally into the dark chasm to retrieve the broken, bloodied body of his friend.

Obi-Wan brought Garen home. 

As was fitting.

But the Garen who came home was dead.

And the Obi-Wan who came home was different.

The joy was gone from tropical sea green eyes. 

Being Jedi was no longer enough.

********************* ********************* ***************

tbc


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Men that Strove with Gods

_Death closes all; but something ere the end,_  
_Some work of noble note, may yet be done,_  
_Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods._

_Ulysses_ \-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson

It had been two days since Obi-Wan Kenobi had returned to the Jedi Temple, bearing the body of his childhood friend; two unsettling days for residents of the Temple. Two days of rumors and whispers and unanswered questions. Two days of hastily convened meetings, and emergency Council sessions, of random encounters resulting in hasty consultations, of furtive conversations cut short at the approach of initiates and even younger padawans; and of speculation, topped with more speculation, and liberally seasoned with even more speculation. Speculation that became almost a palpable force in the presence of the young Jedi who was both its focus and its source.

Few, outside the members of the Council, knew the reason for the unrest, but most realized, within minutes of Kenobi's arrival, that something was definitely amiss. Since time out of mind, it had been the custom, among the Jedi, for friends and comrades of fallen knights to escort the body of the deceased through the halls of the Temple in a ritual procession, en route to the rotunda reserved for cremation rites. No such procession had happened. Garen's body rested still within a stasis field, in the hold of the courier ship in which it had been transported. Instead of the ceremonial procession, a lone knight had stalked through the corridors of the Temple, his eyes looking neither right nor left, infused with a deadly calm, en route to the Council chamber, where - to his astonishment - he had been denied entry. Within mere moments, astonishment had turned to rage. He was able, finally, to channel his anger into the Force, but not before tossing a molded projectile of Force energy through the nearest window - the Jedi equivalent of putting a fist through a wall.

He had accepted the Council's refusal to hear him, for the moment. But everyone within the Council chamber, and, soon enough, everyone outside it as well, knew that his acceptance was only temporary. He would return - and return - and return - ad infinitum, until they finally had no choice but to hear him.

It took two days. 

Obi-Wan stood now before the full Council - stood alone, as he had refused to allow Anakin to accompany him. Although both he and the Council were fully aware that the padawan's absence was entirely physical; with every ounce of mental resolve available to him, the apprentice was focused on the proceedings within the Chamber, and he was physically only a matter of meters away, sitting, none too patiently, in the chamber's anteroom. 

The young Master stood motionless, head high, hands buried in the sleeves of his Jedi robe; the very image of Jedi dignity and aplomb. Except, of course, for the waves of defiance radiating from him, as bright and blinding as flares of sunlight.

"Is that your final word?" he asked, voice cold and without inflection.

"No other choice, have we," replied Master Yoda, almost, but not quite, meeting Obi-Wan's gaze.

Young Kenobi allowed himself a tiny, ironic smile. "There are always choices, Master, or so I've always been told."

"Handle the arrangements, we will," continued the venerable, diminutive Master. "In this, your role is done."

The smile broadened. "Not quite," he said firmly. His eyes swept around the circular chamber, pausing ever so briefly on each of the twelve Councilors present, noting that none met his eyes directly.

"I claim the right of formal statement," he announced, not loudly, but loudly enough. And watched with a considerable measure of satisfaction - very unJedi-like satisfaction - as a whisper of unrest circled the chamber.

"This is not . . ." Mace Windu began, barely restraining himself from growling at the young knight.

"Not what?" Obi-Wan interrupted (and was conscious of an increase in his satisfaction level, in that it felt marvelous to interrupt the dark Master who so often made pronouncements out of his words, rather than merely speaking them.) "Not legal? Better check again. I went to the Archives. The by-laws are very specific. They date from the original Jedi charters, and they've never been repealed. Would you like me to quote the passage for you?"

"A mistake, this is, Obi-Wan," said Yoda. "A Jedi must always consider what is best for the Order."

"What is best for the order," Obi-Wan echoed, softly. "Well, at least, we're approaching the real truth here, aren't we? Is that what everything comes down to, now? The good of the order? Never mind truth, and honor, and justice. Only the good of the order."

"You will maintain a respectful manner, Knight," Master Plo Koon directed, not nearly as serene as a Jedi Master should have been.

"Respect," replied the young Jedi, "must be earned. It is never a gift."

"You will be silent," Mace Windu almost roared. "The Council . . . "

"Are you refusing my request for a formal statement?" Obi-Wan asked, interrupting the somber Master yet again.

"You know we can't do that," replied Master Adi Gallia, with a blatant warning look at Master Windu. "No one is above the laws. But you put yourself - and the Order - in a very difficult position, Master Obi-Wan."

He turned to face her, and a shaft of golden afternoon light streaming through the window at his left, bathed him suddenly in a lovely radiance, sculpting his features with strokes of shadow. Gallia almost gasped; she had known Obi-Wan Kenobi all his life; she had never known, until this moment, how stunningly beautiful he was, or how relentlessly determined. There was not the tiniest hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

"I demand only to be allowed to speak the truth, Master," he replied evenly. "Surely the might of the Jedi cannot be threatened by the truth."

"Your truth," said Master Ki Adi-Mundi.

"Truth," Obi-Wan replied, much more in control of his emotions than the Masters seated around him. "There is only one."

"Our decision, you will not change," said Master Yoda, and Obi-Wan was somehow heartened to note that there was sadness deep in the old Master's crystalline eyes. "Exist in a vacuum, we do not. In matters subject to Republic law, limited is our power to act."

"Your decision in this matter is immaterial. Where and how his body comes to its final rest matters not at all to him, I'm sure. But what is said of him, what is believed of who he was and what he was, _does_ matter. And I will see that the formal statement is recorded - either here, as it should be - or in the Temple newsletters and the republican press, if I must."

"Have a care, young one," said Plo-Koon softly. "If you push us too far . . . "

"You'll what?" he retorted, his patience now so thin as to be transparent. "Will you expel me, for speaking the truth?" The smile that suddenly graced his features was not reflected in his eyes and had the unexpected effect of turning his warm beauty suddenly stark and cold. "I'm the draigonslayer. Remember? The Temple's media darling. The Sith killer."

"You go too far, Obi Wan," said Mace Windu, suddenly more tired than angry.

The young knight shook his head. "No. I haven't gone far enough. Will you honor my request, or must I go outside this Chamber?"

"Make your statement," thundered Ki-Adi Mundi. "And may you one day come to understand the dreadful risk you're taking."

"The risk?" Obi-Wan replied. "What risk is greater than that the integrity of the Jedi gets trampled in the rush to expediency?"

There was a mutter from Plo-Koon, one that neither Obi-Wan, nor anyone else, was meant to hear.

But he did hear, and he didn't bother to conceal his sardonic smile. "So I'm an idealistic young fool, for believing that loyalty and honor should have meaning before this Council? I can't claim to have all the knowledge and wisdom represented by those of you in this room. But I do know one thing, and I know it with all my heart. When ideals become the object of ridicule among Jedi Masters, then something very precious, very important to the survival of the Jedi, has been lost. My Master would have known it instinctively, and so do I."

And as quickly as that, a sense of dread seemed to settle over the Council. For it was immediately apparent that this callow, young knight, so raw in his abilities, so limited in his experience, had pierced the veil of uncertainty and illusion with which their own motives had been clouded for so long, and homed in on one unmistakable truth. Something important _had_ been lost, and not one of them had any idea where to look to recover it.

"Activate the recorder," said Yoda solemnly. "And broadcast it on the Temple's internal speakers." He then nodded to Obi-Wan.

"Master Yoda, are you sure...." Master Depa Billaba looked at Obi-Wan, and he easily interpreted the sympathy in her eyes, but there was also massive uncertainty there.

Yoda sighed, and looked at young Kenobi sharply. "Accept defeat gracefully, we will."

Obi-Wan had rehearsed his statement many times - knew precisely what he wanted to say. And yet, at the last minute, he discarded his script and simply spoke from the heart.

"Garen Muln was my friend - had been my friend for longer than I can remember. He was closer to me, more open to me, better known to me, than any brother of my flesh could have been. When he was accused of a horribly heinous crime, in circumstances that seemed to prove him guilty, my mind was forced to accept the possibility - to perform a logical evaluation of the evidence and the circumstances. But my heart knew from the very beginning. It was simply not possible for him to have done this terrible thing. There are certainties in our lives that never bear questioning; Garen's goodness and decency was such a certainty.

"I can't explain how this happened. I accept Master Yoda's statement that the child was speaking truthfully when she accused him. But I also know that Garen was speaking truthfully when he denied it. I submit that his actions in the final moments of his life are proof of his innocence."

His voice grew very soft and very desolate. "For, you see, he could have saved himself. He had enough time. All he had to do was leave Kammian and me where we were, and move aside. He saw that the boulder was going to fall; he saw that he had a choice to make. He never hesitated, not for one instant. He saved her, and he saved me. And he gave his life to do it.

"And now, you tell me that he is to be stricken from the list of honored Jedi, that he is to be consigned to an unmarked grave and denied the rituals of passage. That he died in shame and dishonor."

He stood very tall, and once more swung to confront each one of them. "There is, indeed, dishonor here, but it isn't Garen's. So I ask you once again, in the name of all the Jedi that have come before us, in the name of the oaths of loyalty sworn by each of us, to rescind your orders - to allow his body to be prepared for the final rituals, to mourn the loss of a true Jedi knight, and to proclaim his place in the annals of Jedi history ."

There was a heavy hush when he fell silent. Finally, Master Yoda lowered himself to the floor and approached the young knight, tapping his gimmer stick sharply to force Obi-Wan to kneel. "Well spoken, young one," was his gentle comment. "But you know we cannot accede to your request."

Obi-Wan's face betrayed nothing of his devastation, but they all felt it, nevertheless.

"His body will be moved under cover of darkness, and laid to rest. You need not worry yourself further."

Obi-Wan's smile was bitter. "So that's it, then. I should just forget it. Right?"

"Forget it, you will not," said Yoda gently. "Else Obi-Wan Kenobi, you would not be. But move on, you must. May the Force go with you."

Obi-Wan rose. "We will all move on, Master," he replied softly. "But I question where we're going. I fear we're taking steps down a path that will lead us to a place we don't want to be."

With that, he turned and left the chamber.

Heavy silence settled over them with his departure, and Yoda slowly shuffled back to his chair.

"What do you see, Master?" asked Mace Windu, knowing the elderly Jedi too well not to see the distress in the droop of his shoulders and the slope of his ears.

Yoda looked back toward the doors through which young Kenobi had vanished. "So brightly, he glows, almost blinding, it is. Growing with every hour is his strength. But growing also is the darkness that stalks him."

"What do you think it means?" asked Master Gallia, recalling again the perfection of that sun-kissed face.

The ancient Master sighed heavily. "Know, I do not. But fear, I do, that on his shoulders rests the fate of the Jedi. "

"Surely not," observed Master Plo-Koon. "No one man can wield that much power."

But Master Yoda was not persuaded. "The chosen one, he is not. This was decided long ago. But destiny may decide differently. And power? Speak not of his power, for you see not what I see. Such power grows within him that worlds should tremble before him. Destroy them, he could."

Master Gallia gazed out at the sunlit sweep of Coruscant. "But he wouldn't."

She turned and looked into Master Yoda's weary eyes. "Would he?"

She expected a comforting answer; they all did. They didn't get it.

The diminutive Jedi Master elected instead to say nothing at all.

****************** *********************** ***************

Obi-Wan sped down the corridors of the Jedi Temple, his small apprentice at his heels, struggling to keep up.

"Go to our quarters, Anakin," Obi-Wan said firmly. "Concentrate on your lessons, and I'll be back later. Tonight."

Anakin swallowed the lump in his throat. "No, Master," he said firmly, speaking softly and respectfully (he hoped), but nevertheless refusing the command.

Obi-Wan stopped, and Anakin had to skid to the side to avoid plowing into him. "What?"

Anakin gulped. "I said, 'No, Master.' I'm not going to our quarters. I'm going with you."

"Anakin . . . "

"I know what you're trying to do, Obi-Wan. You're trying to keep me out of trouble - the trouble you're busy getting into. But it won't work. We're a team, and I won't be sent to my room like a baby. What you're about to do is right, no matter what the Council says. And I'm asking you to let me be a part of it."

"Ani, the Council is definitely not going to be happy with me. They could take some pretty drastic measures."

"Yeah, right," replied Anakin. "They're going to square off against the Sith Killer, the hero of the battle of Naboo. Come on, Obi; they're not that stupid."

Obi-Wan's voice grew stern. "Never joke about that, Anakin. These are the wisest and best of us all. It's just that they sometimes have to consider things from different perspectives."

"Maybe, but this time, they're wrong."

Obi-Wan hesitated, studying the boy's face. Finally, he nodded. "Yes. This time, they are. OK, Anakin. If you promise to do exactly as I say - even when the time comes for us to answer for our actions."

Anakin's sigh of frustration was huge. "You're going to take the blame for me, aren't you? How am I ever gonna learn, if you always do that?'

Obi-Wan threw an arm across the boy's shoulders. "Don't worry, Padawan. You will definitely live to regret those words."

The two started down the corridor again, moving as quickly as possible without resorting to Force enhancement. Within the space of a few meters, the two became three.

Obi-Wan greeted the new arrival with a gentle smile. "Reeft," he said, with a nod.

"Good job, Obi," replied the gangly young knight. "I couldn't have said it half as well."

"You ready?"

Reeft's face split in a huge grin. "Born that way."

They continued, and the three became four.

Master Ramal Dyprio didn't bother to comment; he just fell into step beside them.

The halls of the Jedi Temple were wide and spacious by design, but not so wide as to accommodate four persons in full stride, walking abreast, not - at least - for the entire duration of their journey. And yet they moved unimpeded, not because the corridors were deserted, but because they moved with such a sense of relentless purpose that anyone approaching from the opposite direction simply stepped aside - quickly. Thus, their progress, while unobstructed, was certainly not unnoticed. And many among the witnesses were struck with an almost irresistible urge to cheer them on, many of them without even knowing just what it was that they were cheering for.

When they reached the hangar area, Trex Longo stepped forward from the shadow of the _Main Chance_.

"Captain," said Obi-Wan guardedly.

"Need a bigger ship?" asked the ex-pirate.

"No, thanks. The courier will take up to six. Care to tag along?'

Longo grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."

Obi-Wan gestured toward the hangar master controls. "How's the Force field?"

Longo's grin broadened. "Ailing."

They boarded the battered courier ship quickly, and sealed the hatch before anyone could question what they thought they were doing.

Obi-Wan settled himself into the pilot's seat, with Anakin beside him. Longo took over navigation, as Reeft and Dyprio strapped themselves in, in the passenger cabin.

Pre-flight was brief - as in non-existent.

When Obi-Wan ignited the thrusters, a squawk sounded from the comm unit. "Courier 33719, you are not cleared for launch. Please abort."

Obi-Wan hit the repulsors, and the little ship bounced straight up, coming to a hover just meters below the ceiling.

"Courier 33719," said the unseen voice, slightly more strident now, "you do not have permission to depart."

Obi-Wan hit the comm switch. "Don't recall having asked for it," he replied calmly. "I'm departing now. If you have any inbound traffic, I suggest you get them out of the way."

"Kenobi!" That was definitely not the voice of some lower-level air traffic bureaucrat.

"Master Mace," Obi-Wan answered, still Jedi serene.

"Get back here now!"

"Sorry, Master. I can't do that. I'm departing now. And you're either going to let me go, or you can shoot me down. One or the other - no other choice."

Windu was still muttering ugly imprecations and half-swallowed remarks about Qui-Gon Jinn's unwarranted reluctance to smack his Padawan's bottom when the ship erupted from the hangar and spiraled up into the rapidly descending twilight.

Once the dusted gold radiance of Coruscant fell away behind them, giving way to the crisp star-splattered ebony of space, both Reeft and Dyprio joined them in the crowded cockpit.

Obi-Wan plugged in the auto-pilot before turning to regard his companions. He smiled ruefully. "How did you all know?" he asked.

Dyprio grinned. "It's what I'd have done."

"Me too," added Longo.

Reeft just ducked his head, displaying a sudden, awkward shyness. "If I don't know you well enough by now to figure out what you're going to do next, I should give up being a Jedi and go grow bartha berries on Dantooine."

"I assume," added Dyprio, with a nod toward the starscape, "you have a destination in mind."

Obi-Wan and Reeft exchanged smiles.

"Sal Berora Island," they replied in unison.

Obi-Wan turned back to look out through the parasteel canopy. "It was his favorite place. We used to sneak over there whenever we could scrounge a few weeks on Sanctuary."

"Yeah," said Reeft. "We'd camp out there, and swim and sail and surf. We even built a tree house there when we were kids."

Obi-Wan leaned back and cradled his head in hands clasped behind his neck. "And when we got older, we were sometimes lucky enough to talk some of the girl padawans into going out there with us. It was very - private."

Ramal Dyprio looked hard at the younger Master, and chuckled. But a warning glance from Obi-Wan, accompanied by a significant nod toward Anakin, prevented him from saying what was in his mind. It was, however, unnecessary that he verbalize it; they were, with the exception of Longo, all Jedi, and Longo was a student of human nature, so it didn't take him long to figure it out either.

"You?" asked Dyprio finally.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. My own - um - first experience happened elsewhere. But Garen? Absolutely."

"Is it still used, for that purpose?" 

"No," said Reeft. "They made it off-limits several years ago. Dangerous currents along the outer coast resulted in a few injuries. So no one's allowed there any more."

"No one?"

Obi-Wan smiled. "Well. No one - officially."

Dyprio laughed aloud. "So when's the last time you were there?"

"About six months. On the North shore, there's this fantastic beach, and the surf is like nothing you've ever seen before - anywhere. We spent three glorious days, just swimming, sunning, and surfing, and . . ."

His eyes moved to gaze at his Padawan. "And relaxing," he finished, somewhat lamely.

Anakin appeared not to notice the slightly venal smiles that said they all knew exactly what word Obi-Wan had intended to use, but, as usual, Obi-Wan wasn't so sure.

"Might as well catch some sleep," said the young Master. "Since we're still in one piece, I assume they elected not to take me up on my offer and shoot us down. So we've got a couple of hours to kill."

Dyprio looked at Anakin. "What about it, Padawan?" he asked. "There's a cozy berth back there. Just your size."

Anakin turned huge eyes to Obi-Wan, wondering if he were being dismissed so that the "grown-ups" could talk freely, for he, as usual, had heard and understood a lot more than most adults gave him credit for. Obi-Wan, however, was not one of those who assumed his ignorance; he wasn't always sure how much Anakin understood of 'adult' topics, but he was fairly certain it was a lot more than he himself had understood, at the same age.

He leaned toward his Padawan with a grin. "Sometimes the offer of a nap is just an offer for a nap. We might run pretty late tonight, so you should grab some sleep now, if you can."

Eventually, it was just Obi-Wan and Ramal Dyprio who remained in the cockpit, while everyone else elected to get some rest. The night to come would be both physically demanding and emotionally draining, and an hour or two of sleep now might prove invaluable then.

But for Obi-Wan, sleep was an impossibility, as it was increasingly becoming, even when he was safely ensconced in his own, over-sized bed.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, feeling no need to fill the quiet with meaningless prattle. Finally, however, Obi-Wan looked over at the swarthy Master, studying his profile for several moments before beginning to speak. "Either you've changed," he said with a small smile, "or I have."

Dyprio turned to regard the younger knight, obviously choosing his words with care. "I'm not going to go into my differences with your Master. That's all ancient history now, anyway. All I'll say is that, as much as we disagreed about many things, we also respected each other enormously, even when we were each hoping the other would just drop dead somewhere. I didn't approve of how he trained you. I still don't. I think he demanded too much and rewarded too little. I think he tried to breed the human frailty out of you, and I think that was a huge mistake. But I can't argue, finally, with the result. Whether it was because of his training, as he would maintain, or in spite of it, as I believe, you turned out to be one hell of a Jedi, young Kenobi. And you learned enough independence to be able to do the right thing, no matter who tries to stop you. So, for the record, no matter which one of us has changed, if you ever need a hand - with or without the blessing of the Council - all you have to do is say so."

Obi-Wan smiled. "I thank you, and my Master thanks you, as well."

Dyprio's eyes were dark and speculative. "Son of a Sith!" he breathed finally. "You've seen him."

Obi-Wan turned back to the canopy and gazed into the jewel-toned spectacle of the starscape. "What makes you say that?" he asked, non-committally.

"Do you deny it?"

A small smile touched the young knight's lips. "If I do, will you believe me?"

"No."

"Then why should I bother? You'll still believe as you wish."

Dyprio suddenly roared with laughter. "Now that's the kind of convoluted, self-serving logic I would expect from Jinn's apprentice."

They fell back into easy silence, as the Sanctuary moon began to grow large in the upper left quadrant of the parasteel canopy.

Just as they were beginning their approach, Dyprio turned and appeared to be debating whether or not to speak. Finally, he drew a deep breath, and said, "What was it that you didn't say?"

"What?" replied Obi-Wan, obviously confused. "When?"

"To the Council," Dyprio explained. "You were holding something back - something you thought about saying - but elected not to."

Obi-Wan regarded him stolidly. "Nothing I'm ready to talk about, yet."

Dyprio nodded. "Whenever you're ready."

Obi-Wan was surprised to realize that he was not averse to the idea of discussing that which he had yet to verbalize, with this man, who had emphatically not been one of Qui-Gon Jinn's favored acquaintances.

"Have you heard from Ciara?" he asked, finally, a certain indefinable softness in his voice betraying the degree of his fondness for Dyprio's young apprentice.

Dyprio nodded. "In fact, I have a comm disk for you, when you have time to view it. She sends her love."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, and saw a vision of long limbs, dancing curls, and sparkling eyes rise in his mind. "I wish she were here," he said softly.

Dyprio smiled, and seemed to debate whether or not he should mention what was in his thoughts. "You know, at one time, your Master and I did share one common idea."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Now, that I find hard to believe. You never agreed about anything."

"Except once."

"OK," said the young knight, as he skipped across the top of the atmosphere of the Sanctuary moon. "What exactly did the two of you agree on?"

"That you and Ciara would one day have beautiful children together."

Obi-Wan coughed and choked on his own saliva in the process.

Ramal Dyprio merely roared with laughter.

**************** ******************** ******************

Buccaneer's Bay, on the North shore of the island of Sal Berora, was everything Obi-Wan had promised and more. Sculpted drifts of pale pink sand descended to a polished sea that was midnight blue in the failing light, but still shone bright aquamarine along the western horizon. Already a swarm of stars blazed tinsel-bright in the dome of heaven, and the bright arch of Coruscant was a melon slice of brilliance in the East. Small shrubs, christened 'touch-me-nots' by long gone generations of Jedi Padawans in honor of the propensity of their luminous coral blossoms to snap closed at the approach of greedy fingers, grew haphazardly across the sand, glowing in the refracted light that seemed to dance graceful arabasques in the crystal water. 

Farther up the beach, the land rose sharply, and became creamy white bluffs, soaring above gleaming slabs of stone that acted to break up the incoming surf and fling spumes of glittering foam high into the lowering night. Out to sea, a small reef protected the tranquil inlet from the endless assault of the tides, while riding low enough in the water to allow glimpses of the towering monolithic waves that marched out of the depths and spent their might in graceful curls that dispersed into clouds of random drops against the broad rocks.

At the westernmost point of the natural bay, a narrow peninsula thrust itself into the less sheltered expanse of the ocean, reaching out toward a horizon painted in strokes of heliotrope and vermilion, smeared with emerald and jade. The small spit of land was crowned with clusters of the topaz-crested berora trees that gave the island its name, and, at its very tip, there was a natural amphitheater carved into the promontory's edge, a fan of natural shelves, dropping away into nothingness, with the endless attack of the mighty surf pounding away at its base. The view was nothing short of spectacular.

It was here that they arranged Garen's body, atop a splendid mass of berora logs, cut and trimmed quickly and elegantly with the weapons of the Jedi.

No words were needed to emphasize the solemnity of the moment. None present needed reminding of the character or nobility of spirit of the deceased, nor of how intensely he would be missed, both in the body of the Jedi and in the passage of their own lives.

Together, Obi-Wan and Reeft stepped forward and, with a deft twist of their lightsabers, ignited the handfuls of twigs and moss that would kindle the pyre.

In a matter of moments, fed by the mystical power of the Force, the flames leapt skyward with bright determination, as if eager to bear the soul of the fallen knight into the realms of light and legend.

Late into the night, the fire burned on, and the spectators finally settled themselves on the natural shelves, and laid back, basking in the reflected heat of the fire and the semi-tropical warmth of the evening.

Anakin was first to fall asleep, nestling into a natural depression in the ubiquitous rose-tinted sand; Reeft was not long in following his example; his tendency to nod off - often at the most inopportune moments - had long been a source of fond amusement among his friends. 

When Longo and Dyprio launched into a quiet discussion about methods of combating glitterstem production, Obi-Wan rose and moved to the very edge of the promontory, and stood gazing out to sea. Off to his right, far out beyond the reef, he watched the brilliant white curl of a monster breaker plunge to oblivion against the rocky barrier, and he was suddenly lost in memories.

Memories of golden youth - of boys with limbs grown suddenly too long to allow much physical grace; of skin that burned with the wind and the sun but somehow always felt completely right - even when it stung; of clothing packed with grains of wet sand that sought out and invaded every crevice, every crease, every pore - yet never really annoyed anyone. Of days bright with racing through the sand, splashing through the water, catching the perfect wave and either riding it out - or being dumped beneath it; cliffdiving - a pastime forbidden by every Master since time out of mind, and practiced by every padawan; skin-diving and exploring undersea grottos and caves. Trees climbed, rockfaces scaled, caves and jungles explored. And then, there were the nights, of course; nights of planetlight like liquid silver, and adolescent fumbling in the shadows; lithe young bodies rolling in the incoming tide, clothing discarded, forgotten, and - occasionally - lost in the process. Awkward kisses, and still more awkward couplings, but, oh, so much sweeter for the awkwardness.

And then there were those rare occasions when a young female knight - sometimes fresh from her knighting rituals - would choose to celebrate her promotion with a sweet sojourn on the island, and the attentions of a more-than-willing padawan. With a swift inhalation, Obi-Wan remembered the golden slenderness of Knight Depa Billaba - long before her elevation to Master status - as she clouded his senses and reveled in his raw strength and perfect beauty, while he concentrated on memorizing the splendor of her body. It had been a three-day interlude, unlike any other before or since - and he still sometimes saw glimpses of remembrance in her eyes when she looked at him in a certain way. He fondly recalled all the girls of his adolescence with a smile; recalled many of them in this very setting; and remembered the intensity of the communion between all the young souls who had made this tiny paradise so exclusively their own. 

And he remembered Garen. Garen, who had blushed neon red on the night when Padawan Mischka had decided (rightly, thought Obi) that, at sixteen, it was time for Garen to leave his childhood behind him. Garen, who, along with Obi-Wan, had once carried Reeft across the highest elevation of the island, when a fractured ankle had left the gangly young Jedi unable to support his own weight. Garen, improvising a splint for an injured kitling, or pouring Force healing power into the mangled wing of a tiny bird. Garen, scaling the treacherous berora tree trunks to toss down the berora-nuts that contained a magical nectar that was - just slightly - intoxicating to adolescent senses. Garen, who had the surest touch of them all with a surfboard, whose instincts in choosing the right wave at the right moment were unerring, who could swim like a paroti-seal, yet would seldom venture into the depths, due to an irrational fear of being trapped there. Garen, accessing the Force to free a school of graceful dolfinia that had managed to strand themselves on the barrier reef.

Garen, who sometimes laughed at the wrong moment; who didn't always understand punch lines; who was sometimes victimized by unscrupulous opportunists, who knew a soft touch when they saw one; and who understood compassion as few ever would.

Garen - his friend.

When he felt the achingly gentle touch of loving fingers stroking his temple, he realized that he had been waiting for it.

 _I'm glad you're here._ He ignored the tear that trembled on his lashes.

 _And where else would I be?_ came the tender response. _Would I leave you to suffer such anguish all alone?_

_I'm in trouble with the Council._

Even though this manifestation was completely invisible, Obi-Wan felt his Master's smile. _Trust me, my Padawan, when I assure you that it will not be the last time._

_But what I did was right, Master. Do you understand that?_

_I do - but you must now realize, my Obi-Wan, that the only person who must know that what you do is right - is you. Do you understand that?_

Obi-Wan smiled. _Intellectually, I do, but it's still nice when you back me up._

Strong, if invisible, arms wrapped securely around the young knight, and he felt the touch of a face along side his own. _Always, Padawan._ There was the faintest stir of air, as if the spectral figure had moved away and spun to take in the entirety of the view. _Your memories here are sweet._

_Yes - but some of them might surprise you._

The smile was back - brighter now. _Are you referring to all the times you dived off the cliff, after you'd been warned not to? Or all the times, your little group went surfing or sailing in the restricted areas? Or all the off-limits caverns you explored. Or maybe you're talking about all the young ladies who, um, shall we say, helped you explore your burgeoning sensuality here?_

 _You knew!_ It was Obi-Wan's turn to grin.

The smile became a chuckle. _All the Masters knew, Obi-Wan. Did you think you were the first generation of padawans to discover the particular delights of this place?_

_Then why bother to forbid it?'_

_What is forbidden, my padawan, is ever-so-much sweeter. Is it not?_

Obi-Wan gazed out across the surface of the sea, and spied the graceful sweep of the tail of a great grundl as it broke the surface. _Are you trying to tell me something, Master?_

_Only to take care, my Obi. Darkness lingers near you._

Obi-Wan looked down, and fresh tears brimmed in his eyes. _It may linger near me, but it keeps striking everyone else. Is it possible . . ._ He paused and grimaced as he tried to find the words. _Is it possible that I'm causing it all? That it's all happening because of me?_

There was the faintest impression of breath drawn deep. _Whatever is happening, Obi-Wan, is not your fault._

The young knight smiled. _That's not exactly what I asked, Master._

_I know, but I have no real answers for you, Child. Except that I am sure that you are innocent in all this. I know it, and so does Garen._

Obi-Wan, for a moment, forgot to breathe. _You've seen him?_

_Indeed I have, young one. He sends his love, and a message. He is at peace, and he wishes you to know it._

And Obi-Wan went to his knees suddenly. _Did he . . ._

_Stop, padawan. Some questions are not meant to be answered, or even asked._

The young Jedi nodded, and took a minute to collect himself. _When he fell, I . . ._

_Closed yourself off. Even from me. I was there, young one. But you would not allow anyone to comfort you. Until Master Dyprio arrived. You and he are becoming friends._

Obi-Wan smiled. _Do you object, Master?_

The chuckle was very soft. _He would not have been my first choice, but he seems fond of you. And he will never deceive you. There are worse attributes for friends to have._

_I'll tell him you've given your blessing._

_Well, I wouldn't go that far._

Obi-Wan couldn't help it. He laughed - softly, it's true, but loudly enough for Dyprio to hear.

The swarthy Jedi Master looked over at Obi-Wan, and thought, for a moment, that a glow hovered around the young knight that could not quite be dismissed as the reflection of the flames of the funeral pyre. He rose, brushed sand from his cloak, and walked over to squat at Obi-Wan's side.

"If you keep doing that," he observed, "you're going to get a reputation as one of those metaphysical geeks who spend their lives avoiding people and communing with Nature."

Obi-Wan felt, but did not acknowledge, a soft kiss pressed against his forehead as the blithe spirit of his Master vanished into the warm darkness.

Ramal Dyprio looked up into the heavens just in time to spot one of the regular planetary transport ships angling down toward the spaceport near the Jedi campus.

"I'm glad he's come back to you," he said softly. "There is no comfort quite like that given by your own Master. Not even the touch of a woman can equal it. Almost, but not quite."

Obi-Wan smiled gently. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

"Of course, you don't. What am I thinking? The arrogant prick is probably too busy trying to reorganize the Force in his own image."

"Master Ramal . . ."

But Ramal was grinning broadly. "Sorry. Couldn't resist. Just in case he might be able to hear me."

And, somehow, at that exact moment, a pocket of resin within the logs of the funeral pyre exploded and lobbed a blazing chunk of ember directly toward the Jedi Master's head. He dodged - barely - and Obi-Wan, completely undone, rolled over in the sand and laughed until he was fighting to breathe. He was quickly joined by everyone else in the group, most of whom, attracted by the infectiousness of the young Jedi's mirth, never knew exactly what they were laughing at. But Obi-Wan knew, and so did Ramal Dyprio, who laughed as heartily as anyone - and so did a gentle, dark-eyed spirit, now released from the chains of the flesh, filled with the joy of becoming one with the Force. Obi-Wan couldn't see it, but he knew it was near. Somehow, though the laughter probably should have seemed grossly out of place - given the circumstances - it seemed instead, to be entirely appropriate to the moment.

As dawn approached, they carried the final drift of ashes down to the edge of the sea, and let the wind take it. Obi-Wan walked into the surf, and felt the ebb and flow of the Force as keenly as he felt the surge of the tide. He was surrounded by it, soothed by it, cradled by it, and he knew the same was true of his childhood companion.

"Good-bye, Old Friend," he whispered, as the first sliver of sun splashed rosy splendor into the eastern sky.

A flight of sea birds lifted into the growing radiance of morning, their voices raised in raucous greeting for the returning day. It was a microcosm of the cycle of life; it was the way of the Force. 

It was time to go. 

************* **************** **************

When the renegades - as they had termed themselves - returned to the Temple, there was no reaction - initially. They walked through the Temple halls, heads high, eyes level, waiting for a challenge that didn't come. Spectators witnessing their return were mute, but, more often than not, there was a look of approval in eyes that crinkled with quick smiles. They all went their separate ways, returning to the routines they had abandoned so easily the previous day. None went out of his way to call attention to himself, of course, but none cowered in dark shadows either, or avoided the corridors of Jedi power.

On the third day following their return, Obi-Wan was sparring with his apprentice, enduring the scrutiny and occasional, deliberately audible comments of Master Dyprio, Reeft, as well as a number of other acquaintances, when he received a summons - of sorts.

 _Come to me, you will,_ a voice demanded, as the young Master deftly turned aside his padawan's roundhouse saber swing. However, his initial reaction to the mental message left him momentarily distracted, and Anakin managed to get under his guard, and clip his chin sharply with his practice saber.

It was debatable which of them was more surprised.

"Oh, geez, Obi-Wan, I'm sorry." Anakin was almost stuttering in his panic.

Obi-Wan finally just grinned. "That'll teach me not to take you too lightly. Well done, Ani."

"But I shouldn't. . ."

"Shouldn't what? Take advantage of any opportunity given to you? Don't be silly. That's exactly what you should do, no matter who your opponent might be."

 _Now!_ said the mental voice, and the grumpy quality of the communication left absolutely no doubt who the communicant might be.

"I'm being paged," said Obi, wiping his face with a towel, "and not too patiently."

Anakin looked bewildered. "I didn't hear anything."

The young Master sighed. "That's because he's not talking to you."

"But . . ."

"Go get some lunch, Padawan. I'll see you back at our quarters. This probably won't take long."

"Is it . . ."

"The green troll, doing his omniscient, know-all, see-all act. Used to scare the stuffing out of me, when I was a kid."

Anakin's grin was sly. "And now?"

"Now I'm a Jedi Master, and it still scares the stuffing out of me. Now, go!"

As he headed for the exit, Ramal Dyprio stepped into his path. "Need back-up?" he asked.

Obi-Wan grinned. "Am I broadcasting that loudly?"

Dyprio merely shook his head. "Just a guess."

"Thanks," replied Obi, "but I've been waiting for this. I knew I'd have to face the music, sooner or later."

As he moved to step around the swarthy Jedi, Dyprio caught his arm, forcing him to come to a full stop. "You did what was right, Kenobi. Don't let anyone tell you different."

Obi-Wan nodded and continued toward the doorway. But he paused briefly, and turned back, a smile lighting his eyes. "Master Ramal," he said, "when I'm finished, would you like to engage in a little sparring contest?"

Dyprio chuckled softly. "I hear you actually beat Jinn a couple of times. Did he let you win, or was it real?"

"Qui-Gon Jinn," replied Obi-Wan, "never 'let' anybody beat him in anything."

Master Ramal glanced around the training facility. "Not much room in here. We might do some major damage."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Obi answered, with a grin.

Dyprio walked forward until he was virtually nose-to-nose with the young knight. "You," he said, thumping Obi-Wan's chest, "are on."

Obi-Wan smiled, and made good his exit, while Ramal Dyprio stood looking after him. In truth, the swarthy Master had no idea what the outcome of their prospective match would be; Kenobi was very, very good, but Dyprio was not afflicted with false modesty; he knew he was also extremely good. But the match, regardless of its outcome, would accomplish one thing that Dyprio believed would be enormously beneficial; it would allow young Kenobi to work out some of the enormous well of anger that had built up within him of late - anger that he had refused to even acknowledge. From that perspective, it was a win-win proposition. _If,_ he thought, _I can just manage to stay out of the way when that huge burst of anger comes boiling to the surface._

************* ***************** ******************

Master Yoda was waiting in the one of the older meditation gardens, seated on an ancient stone bench beside a weathered fountain.

Obi-Wan settled himself on the ground at the elderly Master's feet, and waited for an acknowledgement of his presence. When the diminutive Master turned and regarded the young Jedi solemnly, Obi-Wan was dismayed by what he thought he read in Yoda's crystal green eyes.

"You sent for me, Master?"

"Ummm."

The scrutiny continued, and Obi-Wan was hard put not to squirm.

"Defiance sits not well on you," said Yoda finally, his eyes returning to a study of the water's surface in the dark fountain.

Obi-Wan was careful to keep his tone respectful, but his words were patently not apologetic. "I defied nothing, Master. I was guided by the Force."

"No missions will you be assigned, for now." 

"Is that my penalty?" he asked harshly. "My punishment for defying your decision?"

"No," answered the tiny Master. "An opportunity to get acquainted with your padawan, it is. Nothing more."

But there was something else; Obi-Wan could sense it, but could not identify it.

"What are you not telling me, Master?" he asked softly. "I know there's something more."

The wise old Master turned and regarded him solemnly. "Sleeping well now, are you?"

"Since you're asking, I assume you know the answer."

"A logical assumption," answered Yoda. "Your dreams coincide with disturbances in the Force."

Obi-Wan grew very still. "Are you telling me that they're not just dreams?" The dread in his voice was heavy and palpable.

"Unknown," replied the venerable Master. "Coincidence, it may be, or simply your own reactions spilling over into our awareness of the Force."

"Master," the young knight spoke slowly, seeking the correct words. "Do you sense a darkness around me?"

Yoda sighed. "Told you, did he?"

"Not much. Just to be careful."

"Advice you should heed, always. A darkness, there is. Strong, you must be. And vigilant."

"And does this darkness keep missing its primary target, and hitting innocent bystanders?"

The Master's eyes were bright with sympathy. "Miss, it does not. Strikes where it is aimed, I perceive."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and could not quite suppress a shudder. "My dreams tell me that all the suffering is - because of me. That I have the power to stop it."

"Ummm," intoned the tiny Master. "And do they tell you what you must do to stop it?"

"Not exactly. I'm simply told that I have the power."

"And?"

"And that, when I'm ready, I'll know what to do."

Yoda rose and stood facing the young Jedi, reaching out to lay his taloned hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Guide you, I cannot, young one. Your strength in the Force, none can deny, and your compassion does you great credit. But vulnerable you are, in many ways. Be on your guard, for the very traits that will make you a powerful Jedi can be perverted to be used against you."

"What must I do, Master?"

Yoda almost smiled. "Live your life, young one. As you would if no threat existed. Crawl in a hole and hide, you cannot. Else, you serve no one. Issues to be resolved, there are still."

"Such as?"

"Master Rionne Aprelle and her padawan. Avoid them forever, will you?"

"I haven't . . ."

"Lie to me if you so choose," said the little troll, "but lie to yourself, do not. Leaves you confused, I think."

Obi-Wan forced himself to breathe deeply, and allowed the image of Rionne to rise in his mind, for the first time since Garen's death. He was not really surprised to discover how painfully beautiful the image was.

He shook his head. "Master, I don't think . . ."

"Obviously," interrupted the tiny Master. "For, if you did, you would know that _you_ did not die. To honor a friend, does not require that you share his fate."

"What are you saying?" Obi-Wan was fairly sure the little troll's meaning was not as it appeared.

"Honored him, you did, hmm? The right thing, you believe you did. Enough, it is."

Obi-Wan nodded, and started to rise, but the troll reached out and stopped him. For a moment, it almost appeared that the tiny Master was struggling for words, but surely, that was an illusion. Yoda was never at a loss for words.

"You have not been to the medical bay since your return from Sanctuary."

Obi-Wan grinned. "Just lucky, I guess. I seem to be pretty well healed, for now."

"Spoken to Mirilent, you have not, then."

"No," replied Obi-Wan, just the faintest ripple of unease rising within him. "I was told she's extremely busy, with some kind of virus research."

Yoda's ears drooped as he looked up at the young knight. "Too busy to see you, do you believe?"

The faint ripple grew fractionally stronger. "She never was before, but I'm told there's a first time for everything."

Yoda leaned heavily on his gimmer stick and sighed deeply. "Busy, she is not, Young one."

And the ripple was suddenly a tidal wave, crashing into the logic centers in Obi-Wan's mind, as his knees suddenly seemed insufficiently solid to support him. "What are you trying to tell me, Master?"

A tiny hand was laid gently against the back of his neck. "Dying, she is, Obi-Wan."

"No-o-o," he said softly. "That can't be. She was fine, just a few days ago. It's all a mistake."

Yoda's gentle touch on the crown of his bowed head was like a benediction. "Go, young one. See for yourself."

**************** ****************** *****************

He was a blur in the Tower corridors, unaware and uncaring of the number of pedestrians he pushed aside or vaulted over. Nevertheless, the journey to the Healers' Wing seemed endless, seemed to belong in the realm of those nightmare illusions in which hallways extend into forever, the goal eternally receding from the grasp of the pursuer.

They must have known he was coming - probably courtesy of Master Yoda - as no one moved forward to impede his progress. Unerringly, as if magnetically drawn, he sped to the containment ward of the ICU unit, and slid to a stop before the thick, parasteel window. 

Varqa stood silent, allowing the young knight to absorb the full impact of the sight before him.

Mirilent lay in a full-support bio-bed, her small body almost lost in a welter of tubes, straps, monitor sensors and cables, IV drips, and a plethora of other instruments and devices that Obi-Wan could not begin to identify.

He saw her eyes open briefly, saw her move her head ever so slightly, and, unbelievably, saw her recognize him and attempt to smile.

He turned to Varqa abruptly. "She's isolated."

Her lifemate nodded. "It was the only way. The virus. . . ."

"Is she dying?" Obi-Wan had no time for details now. He would deal with that later.

Varqa's eyes were pits of desolation. "Yes. We've run out of options."

Obi-Wan turned back to the window, and watched as a healer in a thick, environmental suit went to Mirilent's bedside to adjust a gauge on one of the machines connected to her monitor system. The healer paused for a moment, looking down at the tiny Bimar, but then moved on to another task, before leaving the room altogether.

Obi-Wan edged closer to the door of the airlock, as he observed the conditions within the sterile room.

When the door swung open to allow the healer to exit, the young knight was ready. His eyes were cold and pitiless as he looked back at Varqa. "Not like this, she isn't," he said steadily. "Not alone, with no one to touch."

And he shoved his way into the airlock, and activated the exterior locking mechanism before anyone realized what he was doing.

"Obi-Wan," cried Varqa desperately, "you don't know what the virus might do to you."

"No, I don't," he said softly, "but I know what it's done to her. She's not going to die without someone to hold her hand."

And he walked into the self-contained unit, went immediately to the bed, and gathered the tiny healer into his arms. 

She tried to fight him off - tried to order him away - but her strength was almost gone, and he was beyond listening.

Finally, she simply allowed herself to collapse in his strong, young arms, and accept the warmth and loving comfort that was all he had to give her. 

He cradled her against his chest and laid his chin against the tangled mess of her hair. "Marry me," he said gently, tears welling in his eyes.

"Oh, my Obi," she whispered, "what have you done?"

He looked down and smiled. "I've come to be with the love of my life. And nobody is going to stop me."

She closed her eyes and whispered, "I love you, my Obi."

"I know," he answered gently. "Sleep now. And when you wake, I'll be right here."

He closed his eyes, and peered into the darkness within him. _Enough._ he thought. _Enough._

And something laughed and replied. _At last._

************** ************************* ************  
tbc


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Sleeping Innocence

. . . . _"the soft sweet accent of an angel's whisper in the bright, joyous dream of sleeping innocence._

\--James Proctor Knott - 1839-1911

 

Sidious stood transfixed, barely able to contain himself, as his consciousness spread itself on the darkness and reached out to touch the troubled spirit of the object of his desire.

Kenobi was close now - ever so close to reaching that point of maximum vulnerability - that point that would leave him open and defenseless against the Sith's depradations, and the dark Lord shivered as he tested the flavor of the tendrils of desire he sent out to engulf the young knight. The Jedi remained oblivious to the Dark Master's probes, except for ripples of restlessness that tugged periodically at his deepest consciousness. But his focus was on the condition of his tiny Bimar companion, and he dismissed everything else as irrelevant.

In such disregard of what his instinctive connection with the light side of the Force was trying to tell him, lay the path to his own destruction. But not just yet. He remained unaware of the twists and convolutions of fate that pulled at him. He knew only the demands of loyalty and compassion, and the anger that gripped him in response to what he considered the betrayal of both.

From the shadows of the Chancellor's terrace, avaricious eyes gazed out into the night, and reflected the light of the planet that never knew true darkness. "He has no instinct for self-preservation," said the initiate, in a tone of wonder.

"Wrong," replied the Chancellor. "It's just subjugated to other instincts. Another factor which will work to our advantage."

"Is it time, my Lord?" 

"Patience, Child. Patience. We are at the most delicate stage of our campaign. He must not be allowed to forget what is at risk, but perhaps we must also give him some small glimpse of what he stands to gain."

"Of course, Master. Have you further instructions for me?"

Sidious' eyes glinted feral and yellow in the glare of passing traffic. "The other liaison is yet to be consummated. It is important, in that it will give him added motivation, for his ultimate act of sacrifice."

"It may be difficult, my Lord," replied the initiate with a sigh. "He has avoided all contact."

"Ummm," mused the Sith. "It is, perhaps, time that he sees what awaits his precious padawan. Anything that strengthens that bond can only benefit us, in the end."

"Will the healer die?"

Sidious whirled quickly and stared at the kneeling figure in the shadows. "Why does that concern you?"

Ragged breathing betrayed the degree of the initiate's terror. "I am not concerned, my Master, except in how it effects our prey. If she dies, he . . . "

"Are you afraid of him, my young novice?"

Luminous eyes closed tightly. "He is very powerful, Master. Not so powerful as you, but powerful, nonetheless."

Sidious nodded and turned back to his study of the darkness. "Under my guidance, he will become . . . magnificent," he responded, "and you do well to remember his power. When he releases his anger - and he will, sooner or later - he will strike fear into hearts that have never known it. The Jedi will tremble before him."

He closed his eyes, sensing the tenderness of Obi-Wan's handling of the tiny Bimar healer. The young knight was bathing her face with cool compresses, attempting to reduce her body temperature, and his touch was as delicate as the slow stroke of moth wings.

Sidious was barely able to restrain a shudder as he allowed himself to experience the sensation vicariously. One day, the youth's tenderness would be reserved for his dark Master alone, and the Chancellor grew ever more enchanted with the prospect of that exquisite sensation.

"Come," he said hoarsely. "Attend me."

He leaned forward against the stone ballustrade and stared at the glow emanating from the Jedi Tower. "I will allow him to keep his pet Bimar - for now. Her ultimate fate, he will decide. Meanwhile, we must shift our focus, and continue his lessons in the pain of loss."

"He has borne much," whispered the novice, approaching the Dark Lord with bowed head.

"Yes," said Sidious, with a satisfied sigh, "But not yet quite enough. But the day draws near, Young One. I will have my prize, and sooner than the Jedi could possibly imagine."

His smile would have struck terror into the heart of anyone who happened to catch a glimpse of it, but, of course, there was no one there to see it except the servile initiate who was - otherwise engaged.

Sidious waved his hand and . . .

Gragg Runoz blinked his eyes rapidly, certain at first that he must be seeing things that were not - could not possibly be - genuine. He had run the test a dozen times, and then another dozen times, in the hope that he had overlooked something. It had invariably returned the same result each time: no effect. Yet, this time, the twenty-seventh time, by actual count, the result was different. The replication of the virus was slowing, dramatically.

Runoz sat and watched the process run to completion, hardly daring to breathe.

***************** *********************** ************************ 

After several hours of being poked, prodded, sampled, tested, observed, examined, and generally annoyed, Obi-Wan was advised by a platoon of Temple healers - who apparently took stock in the idea that there was safety in numbers - that he was genetically immune to the virus that was ravaging Mirilent's body. As, it seemed, was almost the entire population of the Republic.

When, after a night-long struggle, they finally succeeded in reducing her temperature to an acceptable level, and she dropped at last into a natural, if somewhat Force-enhanced sleep, he reluctantly allowed himself to be decontaminated and brought out of the isolation unit. But only after he had obtained the sworn agreement of every ranking healer in the facility that he could return as he saw fit, without obstruction.

When he was standing, freshly scrubbed and clothed, in the presence of Varqa Soljan once more, the look in his eyes might have been sufficiently cold to freeze the male Bimar where he stood, if Soljan had even bothered to notice it. He didn't, as his eyes remained focus on the motionless body of his ailing wife.

"How could you leave her in there like that?" It was not a question; it was an indictment.

Varqa merely looked confused. "Like what?"

"Alone. Afraid. Unable to touch or be touched. How could you?"

"Do you think," the Bimar asked, "that I have no need or wish to touch her?"

"Then why. . . "

"The virus was tailored, Master Obi-Wan."

Something dark and cold seemed to flap ominous wings in the young Jedi's consciousness. "Tailored how?"

"If we knew that, we might be able to find a cure."

"Then how do you know . . . "

The pale, fleshless specter of death seemed to swell in the healer's eyes. "It codes for only one specific genetic marker. Not one sentient being in 5,000,000 is vulnerable, outside Mirilent's immediate family."

Obi-Wan tried to swallow around the huge knot in his throat. "Then her twin . . ."

"Yes, and her children."

"Varqa," the young knight hung his head and tried to imagine how it must feel to be in the Bimar's position. "I'm sorry. Have they already . . ."

"No. She isolated herself. She recognized the initial symptoms before anyone else, and put herself in containment - just as a precaution." His sigh was bottomless. "She saved our children's lives; of that, I have no doubt."

"And her twin?"

Varqa regarded the young knight with a small, helpless smile. "Nothing will make any difference in that respect. Maralana will not survive the death of her sister. It is simply a fact of Bimar existence. Nor, in fact would she choose to. To lose a twin - or a lifemate - is to lose half of one's identity. It is beyond enduring."

Obi-Wan studied the elder healer's countenance. "And you?" he asked finally.

Varqa merely smiled. "Yes, I also have the marker. Hardly surprising when you remember that Bimar mating involves DNA exchange. I go where Mirilent leads. As always."

Obi-Wan looked through the glass once more, and noted that the tiny healer, who had saved his life more times than he could count, was sleeping peacefully for the moment. He thought about her relationship with the man who stood beside him. Neither had ever been particularly demonstrative toward the other, but he remembered subtle indications of their feelings for each other. He remembered that Varqa always seemed more vibrant, more animated, more alive when Mirilent was present; remembered how Mirilent always seemed more disposed to smiles and laughter in the presence of her spouse; remembered how they frequently communicated without words or even eye contact; remembered expressions of joy and pride in each other when they worked together to achieve a cure that neither could achieve alone.

Mirilent, if Varqa was correct, was dying, and her husband would undoubtedly follow her into the Force within a matter of days or weeks of her passing. And yet Obi-Wan knew a moment of envy. He wondered what it would be like to be loved like that - to be so precious to another individual that life without you would be barren and dark and unthinkable. Despite the dreadful cost of such a bond under present circumstances, he thought maybe that it was the Soljans who were the fortunate ones, to have known such a love.

He looked up and saw that Varqa was regarding him with a sympathetic smile. Obviously, the soul healer had lost none of his capacity to discern the mental attitude of others, even if the exact nature of the thoughts involved sometimes remained unclear. This time, however, that did not seem to be the case, for the Bimar leaned forward and laid a gentle hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "If you would only open your heart, young one, you would know first hand."

A sudden commotion from the laboratory section of the medical wing precluded the young knight's response, as Gragg Runoz literally exploded through the doorway, eyes blazing with emotion.

"Master Varqa," he cried, "one of the compounds works. It works."

Obi-Wan hadn't a clue what kind of compound the apprentice was talking about, but the look on Varqa's face spoke of answered prayers - and possible miracles.

"But you said they all tested negative," he pointed out, as Runoz skidded to a stop before him.

"I did, and they did. But now, they don't. Or rather, it doesn't. Compound #103 retards the replication of the virus."

Varqa took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders in an obvious effort to control his raging emotions. "You're sure?" 

Runoz looked slightly wounded. "Master, I ran it three times."

Obi-Wan was waiting, with marked impatience. "What are you talking about?" he asked finally. "A cure?"

"No," replied Varqa, trying to still the shaking of his hands and his voice. "Not a cure. But a treatment, at least. If the compound works inside the body as the test indicates it should, it won't kill the virus, but it will keep it from replicating further. We might - we should be able to stabilize her."

"But if it won't cure her. . ."

"It'll buy us time," Runoz explained, as Varqa seemed suddenly incapable of speech as tears coursed down his cheeks. "If we can stabilize her, then we'll have time to find a cure."

Obi-Wan discovered that his legs were suddenly wobbly, so he braced himself against a supply cabinet and watched as a wave of hope and relief spread throughout the medical facility. Mirilent might be a thoroughly virulent personality when in defense of patients or companions, but she was deeply respected and much loved among her colleagues. And among her patients, she was frequently elevated to god-like status. 

Even if she behaved like a total curmudgeon. Which she did. 

But, ultimately, she was _his_ curmudgeon. For as surely as he held the deed on her heart, she had staked a huge claim on his. She was the mother he had never had.

Which made all of this just a shade too convenient. 

The heaviness of that dark voice came back to him; the one that had been waiting for him to reach the point at which it was all too much to bear.

The tests had been negative - and then they had not.

Hope had died - and been reborn.

He shivered suddenly, as if touched by a frigid draft, and, abruptly, with no time for reflection, he knew.

Something watched - and waited.

**************** ***************** ************

Obi-Wan looked out across the cityscape of Coruscant, from the privacy of his terrace, and wondered.

Something - or, more probably, someone - was playing spider to his fly, and he was growing more and more convinced that the game had been in progress for much longer than anyone might have suspected. The darkness around him was, sometimes, almost visible to him, almost within his reach to grab and twist and wring truth from. Almost - but not quite. For the moment, the source of the darkness eluded him. He was not frightened, exactly. In actuality, he was probably more annoyed than anything else, but, if he discovered, as he thought he might, that this darkness had played a part in Garen's demise and Mirilent's illness, perhaps (and oh, how painful this conjecture proved to be) even in the fall of his Master to the blade of the Sith, then annoyance would be a pale term to describe his reaction. He felt the stir of blind rage within him, but, so far, he had managed to keep it chained and muzzled. So far.

He had a very bad feeling about this.

He felt the gaze of his padawan intensify, as the boy picked up on the simmer of anger underlying his Master's characteristic Jedi calm. By the Force, the child was so powerful, it was almost like being examined under a floodlight when one became the subject of his observation.

Obi-Wan smiled - even though he felt more like snapping. "Ani, that's very rude. You don't just dip into other people's thoughts, no matter how simple it is for you to accomplish."

"Sorry, but your thoughts are really loud."

The Jedi knight renowned Temple-wide for the strength of his mental shields said wryly, "Thanks a lot, Brat."

"Master," said Anakin, unusually hesitant, "do you dislike Padawan Kammian?"

Obi-Wan turned to study his padawan. "No, Ani. I don't dislike her. Why do you ask?"

"She thinks you hate her."

Obi-Wan sighed. "What makes her think that?"

"She thinks you blame her for . . . Well, you know for what, I guess."

The young Master continued to regard his apprentice solemnly. "And do you think I blame her, Padawan?"

Anakin sighed. "I think I would," he mumbled. "I mean, he was your best friend. And you don't believe he could have lied to you. So what does that leave, except . . ."

"It means," said Obi-Wan gently, "that I think she was mistaken. Not that I think she lied. I don't hate her, Ani. She was the victim of a horrible attack."

"Did you know she's asked to be released from her padawan bond?"

Obi-Wan almost reached for that aching spot within his mind that marked the place at which a newly-formed bond had recently attached itself - a bond which he had deliberately refused to access since the death of his best friend. Since the link was still very tenuous, shutting it down had not required a great deal of effort, but that didn't mean it wasn't a pain-laden process. If he touched it now, he knew what he would find: the brutal attack on the Cirsean padawan had cost Obi-Wan his oldest friend; it had cost Rionne her padawan. He didn't know if he could endure accessing her agony, in addition to his own.

 _Coward._ There was that voice again. The one he was beginning to hate.

"How do you know all this, Ani?" 

The apprentice looked less than thrilled to be asked. "We've kind of been talking. After class mostly. Sometimes at lunch. She's really a whiz in the soft sciences, and she's helped me a lot. You know me, Master. I can build a plasma convertor from scratch, but I don't know protoplasm from protons. So she's tutored me some in biology and biochemistry."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Sounds like you've made a friend. I'm pleased, Ani. I think she's needed a friend, and it isn't easy for Cirseans to make them."

"Right," observed Anakin indifferently. "The sex thing."

Obi-Wan managed - barely - not to choke on his own saliva. "So does she plan to continue at the Temple? At her age, it would be a shame if she leaves the Order."

Anakin shook his head. "I don't know, Master. I don't think she's cut out to be a farmer, so the Agri-Corps is probably not an option. And she has no talents for healing. She's been spending a lot of time with Romey. She says she feels safe with her. But with Romey leaving . . ."

"Whoa!" said Obi-Wan sharply. "Romey's leaving?"

Anakin did not - quite - say, "Duh?" But Obi-Wan heard it anyway.

"Why is she leaving? Where's she going?"

"You _have_ been out of the loop, haven't you?"

Obi-Wan's expression grew thunderous.

"OK. OK. They've found her home planet. She's from Dromeyla III. She's a royal . . . I can't remember the word. Con . . . something."

"Consort?" Obi-Wan asked.

"No. Con . . . I never heard it before."

Obi-Wan sighed, and observed, silently, that the Force hated him.

"Concubine," he said, never doubting that he was right.

"That's it," cried his Padawan. "What does it mean?"

"Companion," replied his Master, without missing a beat. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, ready to offer any other explanation. The conversation, or rather, _the_ conversation, would wait until Ani was older, and Obi-Wan was less terrified of trying to explain what was, to his way of thinking, inexplicable. He could show the boy the diagrams and explain the physical processes, but he hadn't a clue how to translate the sheer magic into common language.

A soft chime from his comm system rescued him from further explanation.

"Obi-Wan," said Varqa Soljan, "I just wanted to let you know that the compound is working perfectly. She's stabilized. She's still a long way from well, and we still have a long way to go. And there are no long term guarantees. But she is definitely better. She's also awake, alert, in full possession of her faculties, and yelling for you."

************** *************** **************

"When I am well and back to full strength," said Healer Mirilent Soljan to the Jedi knight standing before her, "I am going to beat the crap out of you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Ma'am," replied Obi-Wan, grinning broadly.

"And stop smirking at me," she snapped. "You needn't look so smug." 

"No, Ma'am," he answered, not altering the grin by a single iota.

She was still confined to the biobed, still tubed and monitored and clipped and whatever else medical science had decreed must be done to her; she was still pale as bone porcelain, and her skin was almost translucent. But the fire was definitely back in her eyes. Finally running out of abusive comments, she merely looked at him while tears welled in her eyes - and his. Wordlessly, she waved him closer, and gratefully grasped him as he sat beside her and wrapped his arms around her.

"You're a perfect little shit," she murmured.

His grin became a chortle. "Master. I'm shocked. Such language."

"When the shoe fits," she answered, face buried in his tunic. "Or the shit, as the case may be."

She laughed when he groaned. 

"Now I know you're on the road to recovery," he said. "The healthier you are, the worse the puns."

She sat up and looked up into his face. "Promise me you'll never do that again," she said firmly.

But he shook his head. "Can't do that."

"Obi . . ."

"Under the same circumstances," he interrupted, "I'd do exactly the same thing."

Shadows moved in her eyes. "Do you have any idea what it would do to me to know that I might be responsible for your death?"

He returned her gaze levelly. "And do you have any idea what it would do to me to let you die alone, with no one to hold you?"

"Little shit," she repeated, with a hopeless sigh.

"Old witch," he shot back.

She reached up and stroked his cheek. "I love you, Little shit."

He caught her hand, and kissed it gently.

"My Obi," she said softly, "I am so sorry about Garen. He was a dear, sweet boy, and I know you miss him terribly. I've mended just about every part of your lovely body, at one time or another, but I'd give anything if I knew how to mend your heart for you. I want you to know how proud I am of you. I was ill when you faced down the Council, but I heard every word. Your Master would have been so pleased."

He ducked his head, so she wouldn't read the flash of pain that gripped him, but, of course, she recognized it anyway. 

When he looked back up at her face, he saw speculation in her eyes.

"Oh, no, you don't," he said, rising abruptly and backing away. "I do not require the services of a healer. I'm fine."

"In that case," she replied, "you're taking up valuable space. Get out of here. Go get some sun - you're too pale. Go spar with your padawan. Better yet . . ." Her smile took on a mischievous spark, "go find yourself a nubile young thing who wants nothing more than to make mad passionate love to you."

"Oh, geez!" he muttered, as he heard the laughter from everyone who had overheard her remark,  
which was just about everyone in the medical wing as she hadn't bothered to lower her voice in the slightest.

In his haste to make his exit and escape from that laughter, he failed to notice that there were several 'nubile, young things' among the spectators who looked as if they'd have been delighted to apply for the job.

Once he was gone, Mirilent fell back against her pillows, and allowed her rigidly maintained posture to collapse. When she spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper. Whatever small strength she had recovered, she had spent in generating an illusion of improving health. 

Her husband watched her with dark, wounded eyes. 

"If I must die," she murmured, "I won't have him remember me as any less than I am. Do you understand?"

Speechless, he nodded, and reflected, with a wry smile, that, if Mirilent were thirty years younger - and two feet taller - he might have decided to be jealous of the young knight who had stolen her heart so many years ago.

**************** ******************* ***************

The afternoon lightsaber lessons in the training rooms had gone well. Obi-Wan had watched his padawan perform almost flawlessly, under the tutelage of Master Parwin P'holai. He had also noted that some of the other padawans, especially those considerably older than Anakin, had not been particularly pleased with the young boy's prowess. The younger initiates and novices, however, had appeared delighted.

Obi-Wan walked down from the observation gallery as Anakin prepared to put his practice saber away.

"Wait a bit, Padawan," called the young Master, as he doffed his Jedi cape. 

Delight practically danced in Anakin's eyes.

Master Parwin, however, was patently less than delighted.

"Master Kenobi," he said sternly, "I have only just accepted the position as saber Master here, but I've heard stories about the contests between you and Master Jinn."

Obi-Wan could not quite contain a grin. "I bet you have."

"I do not," continued the elder Jedi, "intend to have pandemonium in this facility. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely," answered Obi-Wan, settling himself into a meditative posture. "Padawan, with me, please."

Anakin sank to his knees, finding it very difficult not to giggle at the expression on Master Parwin's face.

"Center, Padawan," said Obi-Wan sternly. And then he winked.

Again, Anakin almost lost it.

_Control, Ani. You must learn control. It's perfectly possible to laugh at someone - without hurting their feelings in the process._

_Isn't that kind of - sneaky?_

Now it was Obi-Wan's turn to try to suppress a smile. _Absolutely. Which is half the fun of it._

_Did Master Qui-Gon do stuff like this?_

_Like what?_

_Like teach you how to laugh at people, without really laughing. It seems like kind of a trivial use of the Force, don't you think?_

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and spoke aloud. "Laughter is never trivial, Ani. It's the spice of life. If you ever get so serious that you can't laugh, then you've lost your humanity. My Master knew that, better than just about anybody."

With a grin, Anakin nodded.

"You ready?"

Again, the apprentice nodded, then stopped his Master with a thought. _We're not going to demolish the place - are we?_

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Not today."

The word spread quickly through the Temple, as it almost always did when Obi-Wan's name was mentioned. And word of Anakin's innate prowess was also spreading, so now the interest was two-fold, although the elementary message remained unchanged. To wit: the Sith killer was sparring.

The gallery was suddenly full of spectators.

Before taking up opening positions, Obi-Wan knelt before Anakin and regarded him solemnly. "You've shown remarkable skills, Ani, for someone who had never so much as seen a lightsaber until a few weeks ago. But today, you're going to learn something new. You're going to learn that your own skills are nothing, compared to what the Force can do, through you. I know you've been trying to learn how to let go of your consciousness and allow the Force to guide you. And I know it's been hard for you. But today, you're going to let go, because you're going to drop your mental shielding. Understand?"

Instant fear flared in the boy's eyes. "But, Master . . "

Obi-Wan held up a single finger, to silence him. "Don't worry. No one else is going to sense that your shields are down, because I'm going to extend my shields around you. Can you guess what that will mean?"

Anakin's face was suddenly wreathed in smiles. "That we'll have access to each other's minds?"

"Exactly. Now - this is not something you'd want to do if you were really in a fight with someone. In that case, your shields will save your life. But, in this case, even though we're sparring with each other, what we're really learning is how to move together, as one. Get it?"

"So - stroke, counterstroke?"

Obi-Wan grinned. "Exactly. Now on your feet, Padawan. And let's show them how it's done."

And how it was done, as it turned out, was flawlessly, breathtakingly perfect. By the time the exercise was completed, the entire facility was packed, end to end, with Jedi Masters, knights, padawans, initiates, healers, and a few cooks and bottlewashers from the cafeteria.

The choreography - for it could be called nothing less - lasted for almost an hour, without a single missed step or stumble. It included katas of ever increasing difficulty, Force leaps of stunning magnitude, and aerial acrobatics of amazing complexity. For most of the exercise, Obi-Wan's eyes remained closed; as for Anakin, he appeared to be in the grip of complete euphoria, as his consciousness was cradled and sheltered by his Master's strength, while, at the same time, he was able to access Obi-Wan's perceptions, both through his extended senses and through the Force.

When it was over, after a breathless pause while the two bowed to each other, there was an eruption of applause. Obi-Wan was gratified to note that the most enthusiastic cheers came from the very padawans who had earlier seemed to resent Anakin's skills.

"Very good, young one," said Master Ramal Dyprio softly, as Obi-Wan bent to retrieve his cape. "Of course, by tomorrow, they'll all be so spitting jealous that they aren't the ones that got to have the Sith killer as their Master, that he'll be worse off than before."

"I'll worry about that tomorrow."

"Tired?" asked the swarthy Master, grinning.

"I'm Jedi," retorted Obi-Wan, smiling broadly. "I never get tired."

Dyprio nodded. "Much to the delight of your lady friends, no doubt."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Why all this interest in my love life, all of a sudden?"

The laughter in Dyprio's eyes was tinged with something more - something unreadable. "I was just wondering if you and Ciara ever . . ."

"No!" said Obi-Wan, with an explosive exhalation. "How could you even . . . Ciara is - is like my sister. We never . . ."

"Rattled, Padawan?" Dyprio laughed softly.

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed. "That comes under the heading of dirty tricks."

"Maybe. But all's fair, you know. I believe you owe me a sparring match."

"Now?" Obi-Wan thought maybe he'd misunderstood.

"Right now. Loser buys dinner."

"Last time I checked," Obi-Wan replied, "dinner in the cafeteria was free."

"Right. So let's just ditch the cafeteria, OK. Loser buys dinner, at the Winery, along with a bottle or two of the house's best."

Obi-Wan almost winced, remembering his last experience at the Winery, and then was suddenly conscious of an exquisite bruised tenderness within him as the image of Rionne Aprelle rose up to tantalize him in its perfection. "I don't know . . ."

"Kid," said Dyprio, leaning close so no one else could overhear, "trust me. You need to get out of this Temple, out of Jedi mode, away from your padawan, away from everything, for a little while. You game?"

Obi-Wan once more discarded the cape, and palmed his lightsaber. "I think you planned this," he muttered. "You've probably been sleeping all afternoon."

"Actually," replied Dyprio, stepping out onto the practice floor, "I've been watching you."

"Doesn't that constitute an unfair advantage?"

"Hey. You're Jedi. Nothing else is supposed to matter."

"Yeah, right," Obi-Wan said through clenched teeth. Then he caught a blast of worried turmoil through his link with his padawan, and forced himself to smile. _It's OK, Ani._

 _But you're tired._ Anakin's face was white with strain. _I can tell._

_A Jedi rises above his own weariness._

Abruptly, Anakin laughed aloud. And Obi-Wan, blushing furiously, joined him. _OK. OK. So that's a crock, except sometimes, it's not. But I'm fine. I promise. You don't even have to stay here and watch this if you don't want to._

 _Are you kidding me?_ Anakin was incredulous. _Everyone says you and Master Dyprio are the best in the whole Order. I wouldn't miss this for - for - caroba ice cream._

_Now that is a serious commitment. OK, Ani. But focus. Don't be an idle spectator. See what you can learn from this._

Obi-Wan stepped out on the floor, and was instantly aware that, if the facility had been full before, it was now packed to overflowing. 

"We seem to have become an event," he said to Dyprio.

"Want to set some ground rules?" Master Ramal asked with a glance at the still growing crowd.

"I don't fight well hamstrung," Obi-Wan replied. "How about you? You have a problem with that?"

And Dyprio grinned. "If they don't want to risk getting damaged, they better get out of the way."

"One thing only," Obi-Wan stipulated. "We stay away from my padawan. He's still a bit of a tenderfoot. I don't want him frightened."

Dyprio nodded. "Agreed. But, otherwise, no holds barred."

The two stood facing each other for several breathless moments. Though neither assumed a meditative posture, it was immediately obvious that both were drawing on the Force, pulling it into their consciousness while allowing it to infuse their bodies with strength far beyond that available from their own reserves.

Ramal was first to attack, and, within seconds, Obi-Wan knew he was in the fight of his life. There was much of Qui-Gon Jinn in the swarthy Master's style, but there was much that was unfamiliar as well. Obi-Wan could only hope that the same could be said of him. As he leapt to a training platform hanging above them, to avoid a sweeping upper cut, he noted, with some surprise, that both Master Yoda and Mace Windu had joined the crowd of onlookers. Neither were prone to visits to the practice facility.

Timing it perfectly, he plunged to the floor just as Dyprio launched himself to an adjoining crosswalk. The very tip of Obi-Wan's emerald blade caught Dyprio's sleeve and glanced across the skin beneath. Dyprio didn't acknowledge the sudden burn; indeed, he may not even have noticed it, as he attempted to twist in midair to catch Obi-Wan in mid-jump. But the younger Jedi was nothing if not flexible, and managed to evade the quick strike with a back flip.

They settled then into a sporadic rhythm, alternating aggression and defense, using all the space available to them, and then, using still more. This became particularly noticeable when Obi-Wan went sailing through a transparent plastic partition at the top of the training room, vaulted over the exterior wall and landed in the adjacent corridor. Dyprio followed immediately, and the crowd surged to keep pace.

By the time the duel ended, it had expanded to cover most of the floor on which the training room was located, including several private training areas and a sauna, as well as a number of recreational lounges. They had also managed to damage stairwells leading both up and down, and one lift shaft.

It ended unexpectedly, much to the relief of those charged with the physical upkeep of the Tower.

Master Ramal seemed to have an advantage over young Kenobi as he backed up a stairwell, and reached a landing at which the next flight of stairs led upward at a right angle. Obi-Wan was pressing forward, but Ramal's greater height and his position on the stairs limited the damage the younger Master could inflict. Until the swarthy Jedi started upward once more - two steps, three, four - up the next flight.

Suddenly, almost too fast to be seen, Obi-Wan leapt out over the handrail of the stairs, kicked off a decorative metal sconce to change his trajectory, while simultaneously spinning laterally to come up above and behind Master Ramal, his blade already descending before he landed. The killing blow struck across the back of the neck.

Everything stopped - everyone stopped - and the entire body of spectators heard Master Ramal, breathing heavily now, say, "You little bastard. Where in the name of the Force did you learn that move?"

Obi-Wan managed a weary grin. "In a power station." He didn't bother to elaborate.

Both turned to face their spectators - and found Master Parwin P'holai, flanked by Master Yoda and Master Mace Windu, staring up at them. There was not a trace of Jedi serenity visible in any of the three.

 _Master._ Obi-Wan heard the quiver in Anakin's thoughts.

_Yes?_

_You are SO busted._

Despite himself, and despite the glowering countenances turned on them, Obi-Wan smiled, and noted that Dyprio was not bothering to stifle his own grin either.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "Dinner, I believe, is on you."

"Most definitely," answered Dyprio, then dropped his voice to a mere whisper, "provided we live that long."

************* ****************************** ************

In memory of the last time they had made this journey, they took an air taxi.

The Winery was unchanged, quiet, warm, inviting, with a tall, dark presence at the doorway to meet them.

Lady Mitra greeted Ramal Dyprio with a hug and a healthy kiss, and a laughing response to his banter.

But her greeting for Obi-Wan was different. She pulled the young knight into her capacious arms, and forced his head down to her ample busom. "Oh, Child," she purred, "your Master would have been so proud of you. The Council have forgotten what it is to be Jedi. You reminded them."

"Lady Mitra," he whispered.

"What, Child?"

"I can't breathe."

She loosened her grip slightly and allowed him to raise his head. "Tonight," she said softly, "we celebrate the life of your friend. Tonight, you recommit yourself to your own life."

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

"You will see. You will see. But now, you eat. You are entirely too thin, little one. They need some decent cooks at that Temple. Mitra gonna fatten you up."

"Just what we need," quipped Ramal. "A fat Jedi."

Their hostess led them to the table by the bay window, and Obi-Wan was struck by how different everything seemed in the darkness. Candles flickered on every available surface, and the faces of the other diners were nothing more than shadowy images, accented by occasional reflections in bright eyes or on shining lips.

"A bottle of your best, milady," said Ramal. "When I pay my debts, I do it with style."

"A bet you lost, I take it," observed Lady Mitra.

The wine was waiting at the table, as if they had been expected, and Mitra poured quickly into three crystal goblets.

Master Dyprio raised his glass and declaimed, "To the best. I don't know if Jinn could have beaten me, but I know I got my head handed to me today. To the master swordsman."

Obi-Wan merely shook his head. "I was lucky."

But Mitra's glare brought him up short. "You are Jedi," she almost hissed. "There is no such thing as luck."

When she turned away to see to their food, Dyprio leaned over and murmured, "When the support staff begin to put more faith in the dogma than the prime movers, you have to ask yourself, what's wrong with this picture."

And something in the remark - he didn't quite know what - made the hair on the back of Obi-Wan's neck stand up. Something _was_ wrong; he didn't know what, or why, or where. He just knew that he was right. It wasn't here yet, whatever it was that was coming to confront them - but it was close. He blinked his eyes, and then blinked again, as a brief, blurry picture of this same room, blood-splashed, corpse-strewn, transformed into an abatoir, assailed his vision.

"Hey, Kid. You OK?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, and, when he opened them, all had returned to normal. "I'm fine," he answered. "But hungry as a dewback."

"Excellent," cooed Lady Mitra. "Bring on the food."

When they were presented with a platter piled high with more food than the two of them could consume in a week, and left to stuff themselves, Obi-Wan let his eyes travel around the interior of the restaurant and noted details that he had missed in his first visit. Everywhere he looked, there were symbols of the Jedi, from decorative scrolls on the walls to replicas of meditation stones to sketches of well-known events in Jedi history.

"Ramal," he said softly, never even noticing that he had addressed the swarthy Master without an honorific title for the first time. 

Ramal noticed, and was pleased. "Um-hum?" He was too busy chewing to attempt anything more.

"Why are these people so - so -?"

The swarthy Master swallowed quickly. "Jedi obsessed?" he suggested.

"Exactly."

Ramal swept his arm around to encompass the entire room. "All of the staff here, and most of the patrons, as well, are products of Jedi rehab."

"They were all criminals?" Obi-Wan asked, realization dawning.

"Exactly. And very serious about it, too. Let's see." His gaze swept the faces around them. "Tonight I perceive we have two convicted killers, an arsonist, a former assassin-for-hire, three ex-pirates, and at least a half dozen smugglers."

"What was Lady Mitra?" whispered the younger knight.

Ramal beamed. "Lady Mitra was a galaxy class madam, at a house that made a specialty of extortion and influence peddling."

"She was a . . . ."

The elder knight chuckled. "Indeed she was, and reputed to be the best of the best. Regrettably, her career ended before I had an opportunity to test that claim."

Obi-Wan studied Ramal's expression. "You're serious."

Dyprio's laugh deepened. "I've shocked you. I'm sorry; I keep forgetting what a sheltered existence you've led."

"Not that sheltered," Obi-Wan protested.

The amusement in Dyprio's eyes flared brighter. "Maybe, but I'd bet my last daktari that he never hired a hooker for you."

Obi-Wan smiled and let some of his own amusement show. "Maybe that's because he never had to."

Dyprio's eyes widened, and he burst out laughing. "I believe," he said, between guffaws, "that calls for another drink."

The camaraderie of the restaurant grew throughout the evening, as the staff and all the guests seemed to take enormous satisfaction in expressing their condolences to Obi-Wan, as well as their approval of his actions in the wake of Garen's death. And, of course, most of the condolences and approvals came accompanied with an insistence that they share another drink, in honor of the fallen Jedi, or to toast his achievements. They had finished dinner and were into their second bottle of the house wine, when Obi-Wan noticed that the size of the crowd had grown, despite the fact that it was growing late. He noticed, also, that there were drifts of instrumental music playing, but he couldn't tell where it originated. It was very soothing music, from some kind of stringed instrument.

However, given the fact that both he and Ramal Dyprio had progressed from sober through tipsy all the way to fully inebriated, he didn't care much for soothing music, at the moment. He would have preferred something with a little brass and attitude. But he finally decided it wasn't worth arguing about. Unlike his current discussion with his new good friend. They were deep into an argument well on its way to becoming a shouting match, over the merits of various methods of disarming an opponent, when he became aware that the soothing music was now being transcended by a hauntingly beautiful voice - a familiar voice, singing words that suddenly had visceral meaning for him.

He lurched to his feet, and managed, with a bit of help from whatever friends might be available at any given moment, to find his way to the rear of the restaurant - to the alcove which contained Qui-Gon's painting. Rionne sat on a low stool, gazing out into the night, apparently unaware of anything but the moment and the music.

He listened, and felt his breath catch in his throat.

"At the dawn, to hold you near me,  
As the stars of morning rise,  
Taste the nectar of your kisses  
Breathe the sweetness of your sighs,  
Seek your laughter in the rain  
And fall, drowning, in your eyes."

She struck a final minor chord, and sat motionless as it faded.

He almost walked away. Almost.

"How long?" she said softly.

Obviously, she had known all along that he was there. Which, had he been completely sober, would have raised the question of why _he_ had not been aware of her presence. But he wasn't completely sober, although he was more sober than he had been only minutes earlier.

"How long what?" he answered, walking to the window and looking out into the darkness.

"How long before you can stand to look at me? How long before you stop avoiding me?"

"I haven't . . ."

"Oh, please," she said wearily. "Don't bother."

Squaring his shoulders, he turned to face her. Only her face was visible in the dimness, and the pale hands that rested on the nine-stringed cliavelle on her lap. Otherwise, she was completely enshrouded by her Jedi robe.

"I'm sorry, Rionne," he said simply. "I don't know what else to say."

"You heard about Kammian?"

He nodded. "If I could change things, I would. I don't know how."

She rose. "Don't you?"

"It never occurred to me that she would ask to be released from her padawan bond. I'm really sorry, Rionne. I know it must be horrible for you."

She studied his face carefully. "You believed what you said to the Council. Didn't you?"

He nodded. "I know that's probably not what you want to hear, but . . "

"Don't presume," she interrupted. "He really did save her life, didn't he?"

"Yes. He did."

"What else?"

He turned away from her keen scrutiny. "Nothing else."

She reached out and cradled his chin with her hand, forcing him to turn back to meet her eyes.

"What else?" she repeated, more firmly.

"Why do you think there's any more?"

"I heard it in your voice," she replied. "When you made your statement, you left something out."

"Because it's not - it's something I . . ."

"Something you're not entirely sure about."

"Yes."

She stepped closer and looked up into his eyes, and he was momentarily lost in the scent of her.

"You are sure," she whispered. "You just don't want to be."

He took a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes. "Yes," he admitted.

"Tell me."

"He had time," he said, barely audible.

"What?"

"He had time. Even with saving Kammian - and me - he still had time."

"Time to what?"

And tears welled from his eyes as he felt total devastation sweep over him, as it had the first time he had allowed himself to face what he knew in his heart. "Time to save himself. Instead, he used that time to look into my heart, to learn what I believed. All his life, he was a Jedi. He didn't know how to be anything else, and they were going to take that from him." Suddenly, he was consumed with a towering rage. " _We_ were going to take that from him. _We_ were. Do you understand me? We killed him, as surely as if we had run him through with a lightsaber."

With a wordless cry of sheer agony, he turned and sprinted out into the night - away from light, away from warmth, away from companionship, away from everything except the awful, soul-consuming guilt and the bottomless well of grief. On the deserted terrace, he fell to his knees and howled at the hopelessness that seemed to coalesce around him.

From the shadows near the restaurant's entrance, Rionne stood watching him, her face frozen with the reflection of his pain. Ramal Dyprio stood beside her, his eyes filled with uncertainty.

Wordlessly, she gestured for the swarthy Jedi to leave them alone. With the quirk of an eyebrow, he asked if she was sure. Her response was an absent-minded nod. This dilemma was not something a friend could cure. 

She went to him swiftly and knelt, taking him in her arms. "Come with me," she said firmly. "You and I together must resolve this, or it will destroy us both."

For a moment, it appeared he would resist her - refuse any comfort or aid she might have to offer, and insist on sealing himself into a prison cell built from his own guilt and shame.

But, in the end, the survival instinct proved to be strong enough to force him to reach for the lifeline she was attempting to throw him. 

Now, it was up to the two of them together to determine how to bring him safely to shore.

**************** ***************** ******************

Obi-Wan didn't know - or care - how Rionne knew about the tiny apartment that rested atop the Winery restaurant. Tiny in area, but huge in impact, as virtually every wall was composed of sheets of parasteel. All of Coruscant seemed to be laid out below them, and all of the galaxy spread above them.

Neither of them made any move to turn on any lights; the reflection from outside was sufficient for their purpose.

In the dimness, she was no more than a silhouette against the exterior glow, but what his eyes could not see, his mind provided, and his other senses embroidered. Her scent - that whimsical cinnamon essence - was barely discernible, yet his mind seemed saturated with it. And though she was covered, throat to toe, with her rough Jedi robe, he could swear he heard the soft whisper of silk against bare skin. Just as he could almost believe he heard her heartbeat.

The room seemed to be growing warmer, and he rubbed the back of his hand across eyes blurred from a combination of weariness and the aftereffects of too much wine. For a moment, he realized he was teetering on the brink of emotional overload. Everything, suddenly, seemed to be too much. Everything.

"You're very good, you know." Her voice was low, barely louder than a whisper.

"Good?" He allowed his confusion to bleed into his tone.

"Even now, I can barely sense it. If I weren't looking for it, I'd never know it was there."

"What are you talking about?" For some reason, his voice had grown harsh, almost rasping.

She turned away from her contemplation of the night. "Your shields are almost perfect. Except . . . ."

"Except what?"

"Except that I know desire when it touches me. I know what you want."

He inhaled sharply. "You don't need Jedi skills for that. I'd say it's fairly obvious. I want the same thing that any other man wants, when he looks at you."

He sensed rather than saw as she started toward him, and he heard a soft swish as something fell to the floor. "Nice try," she said. "But you want a lot more than that. If this was about nothing more than sex, the solution would be simple."

"Rionne, don't . . ."

"Don't what? Don't speak the truth? Don't force you to listen?" She paused, and her tone grew silken. "Don't love you?"

"Don't you get it?" he cried, something within him exploding with aching need. "I can't look at you without . . ."

"Without seeing Garen," she interrupted.

"Yes."

She moved to stand directly in front of him. "How much will you sacrifice to atone for a sin you didn't commit?" she whispered. "If you see Garen when you look at me, then it's time for me to force you to see _me_."

A flicker in the dim illumination of the room seemed to focus on her, and shimmer in the folds of the garment she now wore, a brief, silken, flimsy thing that fell from the cleft of her breasts and ended at mid-thigh, a wisp of fabric that clung to her like a breath of wind, held in place by gossamer, cobweb-like straps at her shoulders.

"Rionne," he said, trying for firmness, but achieving only breathlessness.

"It wasn't your fault," she said, in a voice gone hoarse with desire "and it wasn't mine. I know how you feel about me, and how I feel about you. I've known it since the first time I saw you. And now, you're just going to throw it all away, out of some misguided notion of nobility?"

Abruptly, she pushed up against him, and he was enveloped in the heat of her. "No way, Kenobi," she hissed at him. "It may not be the Jedi way - or the Kenobi way - or even my way. But I know this much. Love is too rare and too fragile and too precious to discard, just because it comes with pain. If loving you has to hurt, if loving me has to hurt you, then so be it. But I am not going to let you just walk away from me."

And, within him, something - snapped. He had been prodded, provoked, twisted, manipulated, used, abused, taunted, teased and tortured beyond all reason, and rebellion rose up in him like a relentless tide. With a sound that was more growl than groan, he grabbed her and slammed her against the wall, ground his body against her, and kissed her - brutally, greedily, savagely, giving himself over to the rage of lust that swelled within him.

She twisted her face away from him and gasped as he bent to claim the tender flesh of her throat. "Come on," she demanded. "Is that all you've got? You know it's not enough. You have to punish us both, don't you? So come on. Hurt me, Obi-Wan. Make me bleed. Make me cry. Then maybe - maybe it'll be enough. Maybe then we can look at each other, without guilt. Maybe then, we can love each other."

But his heart seemed to freeze within him as a sob escaped his throat. "No," he breathed. "I can't do this. Not like this."

But Rionne was far past accepting his denial. Relentlessly, she pulled his lips back down to her and spoke against the luscious heat of his mouth. "Soft and tender is for later, my Love. For the second time. But now, I want you - hard and fast. It has to happen, now, Obi-Wan. If we can't get past this - right now - we're lost. Take me now. Right here."

His ability to resist her was finally just swept away before her insistence. With one violent twist, he tore the filmy slip of a dress from her and reclaimed her lips, forcing them open and exploring her with his tongue. As his hands dropped to cup her buttocks, she slid her fingers inside his trousers, and freed his manhood, now throbbing with need.

"Now!" she gasped. "No more talking."

"Are you . . ."

"Ready," she groaned, deep in her throat. "I've been ready since the first time I saw you. Take me now."

And take her he did, there against that wall. 

She moaned in sheer pleasure as he buried himself within her, then paused to savor the exquisite sensation.

She lifted her head slowly to draw him into the velvet warmth of her eyes. Then she smiled. "Come on, Big Boy." Her voice was a sensual purr. "Show me what you've got."

Suddenly, he laughed, and she felt the rumble of it all the way up her spine, as he paused to draw a deep breath. "Your wish, my lady, is my command."

And a tiny spark ignited what neither of them could have foreseen - what neither had ever experienced before. They were swept up into a conflagration that consumed them in an elemental blaze born of Force energies that existed on a primitive plane that few were ever privileged to experience; their initial joining opened a portal into a place where they were swept up in an emotional tempest that bound them together, forcing them to cling together to ride the torrent.

This was desire in its purest form; this was the creative hunger that drove the universe.

This was no sweet, gentle lovemaking; this was sex - raw, primal, punctuated with rough kisses and rougher hands. When, at last, they both approached the edge of infinity, she pulled back and stared up into his eyes, burning the image of his hunger into her mind for all time. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to do so, but she did. 

Finally, he buried his hands in her hair, crushed her mouth with his own, and drove his seed deep within her. At the same moment, her body clenched around him, sending her mind - and his - spiraling into madness.

For long, exquisite moments, neither could move or even speak.

Then Obi-Wan stepped back, leaned over, and picked her up.

"We did it your way," he said, with a gentle smile. "Now, we do it mine."

His kiss was achingly gentle, as he carried her to the bedroom and laid her on the silky coverlet of the sleep couch. He then reached over and switched on a bedside lamp.

She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"I've seen you in my dreams since the day I met you," he said simply. "Now, I want to see you with my eyes."

She let her eyes drift down his body, still partially clothed. "But you have me at a disadvantage, Sir."

His smile was so beautiful, her breath seemed to catch in her throat.

He started to remove the rest of his clothing, but she stopped him. "Let me," she whispered.

He stood very still as she knelt before him on the mattress and slipped her hands inside his tunic. She removed his belt and his sash and pulled the tunic from his shoulders, all very slowly - and he shuddered under her touch, her fingertips trailing fire over his skin. When his torso was bare, she dropped kisses from his throat down across the sculpted muscles of his chest, and his breath grew harsh and ragged, finally catching in his throat with a sound that was half-moan, half-growl, as she slipped her hands into the waistband of his trousers and pulled them down, moving with exquisite tenderness.

He discarded his boots and leggings and then stood silent before her.

She sat back then and looked up at him, her topaz eyes alight with wonder. He was a feast for the senses, and her eyes followed the lines of his body; broad shoulders, muscled chest, all in perfect proportion to the narrow hips, tapering to well-muscled legs. And, in the midst of all that perfection, in a nest of red-gold curls, his manhood, much more generous in size than she had expected. She moved forward, prepared to continue her exploration, but he stopped her.

"My turn," he whispered, and pushed her down on the bed.

First he reclaimed her lips, suckling like a hungry child on the sculpted contours of her bottom lip, marveling at the taste of her and the softness of her mouth, and offering mute apology for the brutality of his previous oral assault that had left her lips swollen and bruised. Then he caressed her jawline, her throat, and her ears, pausing with a smile to nuzzle the flesh around her b'riffia jewels.

Working his way down, he dropped gentle kisses at her collarbone before proceeding to the swell of her breasts. 

"Lovely," he murmured.

"Too small," she sighed, relishing the warmth of his breath against her skin.

"Perfect," he answered and meant it. Though not overly large, her breasts were firm and high and beautifully shaped, with large, rose-tinted nipples, encircled by pale tan aureoles. He stayed at her breasts for a very long time, suckling at each in turn, bringing them to pebbled peaks - and bringing Rionne very nearly to orgasm - repeatedly. But he seemed to know exactly when to pull back.

She put her hands in his hair and moaned. "Obi-Wan," she murmured, urgency in her tone.

"Shhh," he replied. "Not yet, Love."

He moved lower, caressing her abdomen, then still lower, to her thighs.

"By the gods," she hissed, "you're driving me mad."

"Um hmm," he replied absently, as he allowed his fingers to trail across her skin, skimming as lightly as the softest of night winds.

She moaned again, then arched abruptly as he continued his exploration.

Quickly, he raised himself up, kissed her with passionate abandon, and then, with a grin that she found completely irresistible, he moved to kneel between her legs and proceeded to map her body, as if he must memorize every crease, every fold, every place which invited his touch and which, when caressed, caused her to gasp in wonder. When he paused again, and looked up, waiting for her to meet his eyes - to fall into the luminous wonder of them - she was suddenly breathless as he lowered his mental shields and allowed her consciousness to meld with his, so that, through the Force, she became, at once, both explorer and explored - ravisher and ravished - loved and lover.

 _Oh, Obi-Wan,_ she sent through their link, with a rapturous moan, _I don't know who taught you to do this, but may the Force be with them forever._

When, finally, he rose to his knees and gazed into her topaz eyes, she was writhing with need, and he was throbbing for release. Yet, when her body opened to him the second time, though the passion was no less intense, the urgency was less uncontrolled, and he was able to exercise some small measure of restraint. Thus, he brought them both to the very edge of ecstasy and then held them there, together, riding wave after wave of unimaginable pleasure, before finally spilling over into instant mutual annihilation.

Afterwards, they lay entwined, collapsed and helpless and gasping for air.

Eventually, Obi-Wan recovered enough to roll himself off her, and pull her up to lie against his chest.

Suddenly, she reached up and slapped him, just hard enough to sting slightly.

"Hey," he growled softly. "What was that for?"

She smiled. "For wasting so much time. We could have done this weeks ago."

He tried to maintain the lightness of the moment, but she read the doubt in his eyes. "Obi-Wan," she said, stroking his face with gentle fingers, "I love you. I've loved you forever, from that very first day. And you love me. This was meant to be - meant by the Force, maybe, or by the gods or by the hand of Fate - whatever. You have to believe that. It wasn't planned; we didn't plot it or set out to make it happen. It just happened - like . . . like gravity just happens. No one creates it or causes it; it just _is_. And after what's happened between us, I don't see how you can doubt it. We may never know the entire truth about Garen, but I know this much. He truly loved you; he loved you so much it was like a bonfire inside him - something everyone could see. Something I could see. He wouldn't want you to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of a memory."

He nodded. "I know. It's just . . . ."

"Just that you've never met a guilt you didn't like. Baby, you have got to stop this. Believe it or not, you are not responsible for everything that ever went wrong in the life of anyone you ever met."

Again he nodded, then buried his face in the silken drift of her hair. 

"Bright as embers," he murmured, lost in the fragrance of her. And he slipped effortlessly, immediately into deep, healing, dreamless sleep.

Rionne gazed at him and sighed. "Yes," she breathed, "you are."

She lay in his arms, content to watch him sleep, stunned by the beauty of his spirit and awed by the quality of innocence that still clung to him, in spite of their somewhat pornographic endeavors on this blessed night. She hoped that the purity of it would stay with him, but somehow, she knew it would ultimately prove impossible to maintain. And there was something else - something that only a Jedi would notice; even here, within the afterglow that always lingered after lovemaking, there was something more - something that clung to him, like a soft drift of mist, or a pale veiled radiance.

The Force cradled him, stroked him with loving fingers, and eased him deeper into the sweet grasp of slumber.

She lay beside him, her body sated and luxuriating in the sensation of loving and being loved, and felt the sweet lure of sleep. He would be the love of her life; she knew it in the deep center of her heart, in the core of her being where women confront and concede such truths; she would love him as no other woman ever would, but she was not so foolish as to believe that she would ever be strong enough to prevail against the one thing that loved him more, if it should ever choose to stand between them.

The Force would ever be a jealous mistress.

Something soft and lovely stirred within her, and she smiled, content within the moment. Tonight, they had written the first page in a new chapter of history, and she would never forget it, even if the memory should someday become something she would prefer to discard. Something - vague, formless, shadowed - wondered briefly why she should think such a thing, but it was quickly lost in the lethargy of the moment.

With the coming of sunrise, the lovers slept, the remnants of their passion shielding them from the curiously cold light of morning.

************** *************** *****************

tbc


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Paradise Found - and Lost

For two days - two glorious, dream-like, idyllic, fantastical days - they hibernated in the glass-enclosed cottage, so reminiscent of the aerie of some great bird of prey. As if by magic, trays piled high with splendid varieties of food and drink arrived regularly at the door, featuring everything from fresh-baked, aromatic loaves of coarse bread, to great slabs of caroba cake, buried under mounds of the promalana berries that were Rionne's favorite. Not to mention generous pots of the fragrant jaffa without which Obi-Wan could not face the morning - and chilled, corked bottles of sparkling wines, to toast the end of each day.

But for all the excellence of the service, they never saw a single soul. It was as if they had been marooned on some exotic island, far from the seats of power and the manic pace of the Republic. It was paradise.

They eagerly explored their tiny oasis at the top of the world, discovering that it was larger than they had first believed, featuring a pocket-sized little terrace where they could bask in the sun's bright warmth in complete privacy, and a small spa, of which they took full and frequent advantage.

But mostly, with the exuberance and bottomless stamina of youth, they explored each other, finding ever greater delight in the learning process, becoming so closely attuned that, finally, mere proximity was enough to inflame their senses. They made love endlessly, discovering new ways to achieve mutual ecstasy, as minds joined and instructed and taught and learned and stretched and stroked. They took their pleasure where they found it, from the bedroom to the terrace to the spa, and all points in between. She fed him muja fruit and lapped the juice from his chin with her tongue as he laughed, and sang him Chal-Si love songs. He massaged scented oils into her body until she was aglow with sensuality, and brushed her hair with long, slow strokes, pausing periodically to explore the spot at the nape of her neck that invariably left her gasping with delight. She learned that, for a Jedi, he had a surprisingly quick temper; he was just very skilled at masking it. He learned that she was both bored and distrustful of what she called 'flagrant humility', being much more comfortable with justifiable pride and, perhaps, just the slightest trace of arrogance. She told him about her early training as a healer, before she gave it up for full knighthood; he told her about Malida/Daan - and Cerasi, who lived still, deep in his heart. He found - and was delighted by - the tiny little heart-shaped beauty mark that graced the underside of her left breast; she found the rose-colored triangular birthmark that rode low on his right buttock. He laughed when she sometimes unleashed her soaring mezzo soprano in a crescendo of passion; and she found it utterly charming when he, with a devilish smile, whispered dirty words in her ear in his lovely accent, as he plumbed previously unexplored depths of her body. She taught him how to sing Calamarian folk songs in his surprisingly lovely tenor; he taught her how to prepare a perfect fines herbes omelet, despite the fact that she was almost phobic about food preparation.

Within two days, it was as if they had known each other for a lifetime. 

And they learned one thing more - the most vital thing of all. They learned that they loved each other, in a way that neither had ever experienced before.

On the evening of the second day, they sat on their private terrace, and gazed up into the stars. He lay back on a lounge chair, and she sat in his lap, her upper body braced against his chest. He held a goblet of wine in one hand which he periodically raised to her lips and then, to his own. They were semi-dressed; he, in a pair of old cut-off shorts he had found in the closet; she, in his under-tunic. It was as close to being fully clothed as either had been for the duration of their stay.

"Remarkable," he said, with a sigh.

"What?"

He nuzzled the base of her neck. "That complete, total peace has broken out all over the galaxy."

She laughed softly. "How do you figure that?"

"Either that," he continued, "or the Temple has been exterminated. Otherwise, how do you explain the fact that our comm links have been completely silent - for two days?"

She twisted around until she was facing him, sitting astride his hips. "Dumb luck," she observed, "and Ramal Dyprio, unless I miss my guess. Don't question - just be thankful."

"Ummm," he murmured, "that is an excessively interesting position, my Love. Could lead to all manner of - interesting things."

She kissed him gently. "Exploration?"

He kissed back. "Absolutely."

"Exploitation?" She fumbled with the waistband of his shorts.

"Undoubtedly."

Happiness glowed in her topaz eyes. "Penetration?"

With a shift of his hips and a deft twist he was suddenly sliding deep within her. "Thought you'd never ask," he breathed.

"My turn to ride," she whispered. "This time, I make love to you."

Time slowed and became meaningless, as they surrendered to the gentle downward spiral of their joining. He allowed her to set the pace, easy, languorous, unhurried, to control both their physical pairing - and the mental entwining that accompanied it. And as their bodies drew ever closer they began to lose the distinction that marked where one of them ended and the other began. He gazed up and found himself lost in the galaxies forming in her topaz eyes, while she studied his face, as waves of pleasure suffused his skin with a roseate blush, darkened his eyes, beneath those incredibly long thick lashes, to deep violet, and prompted him to grab his luscious lower lip between perfect white teeth. She could barely breathe, as she realized that she had never before been touched by such perfect beauty. There was no frantic need in this melding of two souls; no thrust and parry of lust and desire. There was only the act of becoming one spirit, one body, one soul, of falling finally, together, into a bottomless well of bliss and contentment.

Obi-Wan would later come to believe it was the most sensuous moment of his life, as he was lost in her radiance, overwhelmed with the perfection of her, drowned within her essence. The silkiness of her skin, the incredible depth and richness of her eyes, the flame-kissed fall of her hair, the lushness of her mouth, and - above all - the matchless purity of her heart caught him and wrapped him in a web of tenderness that took his breath away and quickened his awareness to a state that was almost painful.

When they retired to their bed, it was very late. A silence settled between them briefly, before he turned to her and took her in his arms.

"We haven't talked about it," he said gently, regretfully.

She nodded. "And the clock is striking midnight, my prince."

He buried his face in the curve of her throat and nuzzled the tender skin around her b'riffia stones. "I won't lose you again, Ri. I can't."

She pulled back and gazed into his lovely, blue-green eyes. "They'll fight us on this, Love. You know they will. They might - just _might_ \- have accepted it for me. But you're the golden boy; the Sith killer; the draigonslayer. And, to make matters worse - from their perspective - you're also Master to the Chosen One. In a word, they're going to go nuclear. The troll is going to go pea green with rage."

"He's always pea green."

"You know what I mean."

He sighed. "They'll have no choice. They'll accept it, or they won't. Either way, nothing changes."

She stared up at him, and read grim determination in his eyes. "You mean that? You'd . . . . Damn, I can't even say it."

He smiled. "I can. Nothing is too much for you. I love you, Rionne, as I never dreamed I would love anyone. Everything that has always been so important to me, is meaningless now, unless you're with me. Will you be my bondmate? For whatever time the Force grants us?"

Her eyes were suddenly awash with tears. "And if it means giving up your knighthood?"

He kissed the tears from her face. "We're Jedi. We'll always be Jedi, no matter what the Council does."

"And your padawan?"

He gave her a small, wistful smile, acknowledging that she had focussed instinctively on the only question he had yet to answer. "The bond could still - be broken," he answered. "If necessary."

She shook her head. "Don't do that, Love. Don't fool yourself. Anakin has already given you his heart and soul, almost as completely as I have. I don't know what it would do to him to lose you."

"He's young and strong. He'll survive. Kammian was able to live through it."

But she refused to allow him that evasion. "Much as I hate to admit it," she said, nestling against his shoulder, "Kammian and I never completely bonded. It was as if she always held something back. Maybe it was because she was still grieving for her first Master - I don't know. But you can't compare our bond to the one you have with Anakin. Like it or not - that kid is in your head and in your heart, and I doubt you could cut him out with a lightsaber."

He shifted to face her. "Then he'll just have to go with us."

She ran loving fingers through the soft spikes of his hair as she laughed. "While we're at it, maybe we can just go off and found our own Jedi Order. Do you honestly believe they'd let you take him away?"

His eyes dimmed slightly, and it was as if he were looking into someplace far beyond the moment. "I don't know that they could prevent it," he replied, then smiled. "Not because of me; I probably couldn't stand against them. But Anakin? Rionne, he's - he's - frightening sometimes. The raw power within him is just - awe-inspiring." 

She nodded. "You're not the only one who thinks so. That's why they won't let him go."

He trailed delicate fingers across her throat. "Which might turn out to be an advantage for us. If they can't afford to let him go, and he won't settle for anyone else - then . . . ."

She grinned. "That's devilishly clever, Kenobi. I love it."

He followed the trail of his fingers with a line of soft, tender kisses, tracing unmistakable heat with his lips. "You haven't given me an answer."

She rolled up and lay atop him, hands bracing his face, lips brushing his eyelids. "You knew my answer before you asked. There is nothing - nothing - that I could ever deny you. Without you, my life is empty and cold, without hope or meaning."

Quickly, with a smile that could have melted lead, she thought, he flipped her over until she was lying beneath him. "And without you," he murmured, "I'm lost in the darkness - forever."

And, for a while, they were both lost, but lost together, in a world of passion and need fulfilled. The morning would bring the inevitable end of their retreat from reality; but the night was yet young enough.

******************* ****************** *****************

_He awakened to a world shrouded in eddies of mist, the room around him cold and hollow. Rionne was gone, and he knew, instinctively, that she was not only gone from his bed, but gone from the apartment entirely. The pleasant sub-audible murmur of her Force signature, that had permeated his consciousness so lusciously for the past two days, was silent now. He rose and absent-mindedly pulled on his trousers, before wandering out to the terrace. The mist, which had somehow found its way even into the bedroom, was thicker outside, obscuring everything but a pale, wavering disk of sun and dark, dripping masses of foliage brushing the base of the tiny balcony._

_"Rionne," he called, not really expecting an answer. He knew she would not hear him. And yet - and yet - she was not as far away as he had originally believed. He slowly became aware of a wisp of familiarity, just beyond the reach of the senses he stretched out into the Force._

_He slowly descended the flight of steps, that lead to the area surrounding the Winery, and stopped to listen. The only identifiable sound was the random drip of moisture, plopping on the mosaic patterns beneath the eaves of the roof extensions. Or was there more? He listened harder._

_There. A voice that was not - quite - a real voice, but rather only a pale echo of a voice. "O-b-b-b-i-i-i-i-i-i."_

_"Rionne." He called, more loudly this time, the first frisson of unease trailing icy fingers down his spine._

_He tried to access the Force to push aside the fog that swirled ever thicker around him, but the Force seemed sluggish and unresponsive, for the moment._

_He moved forward slowly, trying to discern the direction of the cry that had trailed away into silence._

_Suddenly, in one direction only, the mist rolled aside, leaving a watery vision of a figure that stood at the limit of his line of sight._

_He started forward. "Rionne, wait."_

_But, though he could not make out much of her face, he saw clearly that she was fearful - almost panicky, as she tucked something beneath the ample swirl of her Jedi robe and broke into a run, headed away from him._

_"Rionne," he called, and started after her. "Wait, Love."_

_Suddenly, he noticed another figure, standing much closer to him, obscured by the mist, but steadily becoming more visible._

_A brief zephyr stirred the fog, and Anakin stepped forward boldly._

_"Ani?" Obi-Wan said uncertainly, for although the face was definitely that of his apprentice, there was nevertheless something odd in his appearance._

_"Master." The voice was right, only slightly deeper than usual._

_"What's wrong, Padawan?"_

_"You should have listened, Master."_

_Obi-Wan shook his head, wondering if the soft whirring sound he now perceived was in the air around them, or in his head. "Listened to what, Ani?"_

_The smile that touched the boy's lips was brief and cold. "Too late now. You should have listened then, when it mattered."_

_And he turned and strode away, the mist swirling around him - and thickening. He moved toward the rapidly receding image of Rionne, now only a tiny smear of color in the clouded landscape._

_Obi-Wan wasn't sure why, but alarm suddenly gripped him. For some reason, he knew he must not allow his padawan to encounter Rionne. It abruptly came to him that the 'something odd' in Anakin's appearance was in his size. It appeared that his padawan had come into a remarkable spurt of growth; the nine-year-old who, two days earlier, had barely come up to his Master's chest, now would have been able to look him in the eye without having to raise his head._

_Obi-Wan broke into a run. "Padawan, wait."_

_Anakin never hesitated. In fact, his pace seemed to increase, and now, Obi-Wan noted that the boy's brown Jedi robes seemed to have darkened dramatically. They were almost black in the weak, fog-filtered light. Suddenly, Anakin appeared to leap forward through the mist, and disappear completely, over the edge of the roof - or the world, for that matter._

_Obi-Wan launched himself toward the spot where his apprentice had vanished, and found himself drifting downward toward a barren, steam-threaded landscape. He hadn't any idea how he had come to this place; he only knew that he had to find his padawan; his mind whispered that he also had to stop his padawan, before it was too late. But why he had to stop him, the Master hadn't a clue. Nor what it was that was rapidly becoming too late to prevent._

_Abruptly, the fog and the steam were blown away by a sharp, bitter wind, and Obi-Wan saw Anakin, now impossibly tall and imposing, standing atop a sandy rise, gazing down into a pit of something that pulsed fiery red, his body and head now completely obscured by a swirl of black. As Obi-Wan started to climb the rise, Anakin turned to look at him, and the Master felt his heart heave within him. For this - thing confronting him could not be his padawan; this black machine, with no face - and no soul - could not be his Anakin; this tower of pure evil, whose Force signature blazed with rage and betrayal, but no residue of the easy affections of the boy he had once been. Yet it was Anakin; the young Master had no idea how he knew that, but he did know it. Beneath that ominous ebony armor, forever closed off from everything that he had once been, and everyone that he had once loved, was the mutilated remnant of the child that had held so much promise._

_Obi-Wan stood still and opened his arms. "Padawan?"_

_The black warrior laughed - a deep, mournful sound. "Too late, Obi-Wan. Too late. You could have saved me. Only you. Instead, you chose to save yourself, so I had to take your place. Come closer now, and behold the harvest your actions will reap."_

_Obi-Wan started climbing, but the sand beneath his feet shifted constantly, and his progress was slow; too slow. And the Force remained stubbornly inaccessible. As he finally reached the crest of the rise and was able to look down on the pit below him, the tableau that would forever seer itself into his mind was already frozen in place. Anakin stood silhouetted against a fiery, smoldering lake of magma, Rionne on her knees before him, her body cowering to provide shelter for a tiny bundle in her lap. The apprentice turned to look up at Obi-Wan as he raised a huge, scarlet-bladed lightsaber, and struck viciously downward, slicing through Rionne's body as if it were no more substantial than sculpted foam. She died with her hands outstretched in silent entreaty, her eyes, overflowing with love, lifted to meet Obi-Wan's one last time, and her voice, in his mind, reassuring him that she would love him for all eternity._

_Obi-Wan went to his knees, his heart convulsing within him, unable to make a sound._

_The dark figure turned back toward him, saluted him with the garish red saber, bowed slightly, and walked away._

_"No," said Obi-Wan, barely able to breathe. "No."_

_Something whispered on a breath of wind. "You had the power to stop it. You chose not to use it. Now look what you've done."_

_"No," he whispered. "No."_

_He stood and turned away from the ruin of the woman who was half of his soul and screamed to the steam-distorted sky._

_"No, no, no, no . . . ."_

"Obi-Wan." The voice was loud, insistent, and very nearly frantic with concern.

"No more," he shouted.

"Obi-Wan, wake up NOW."

And he leapt upwards, dragging himself from the dungeon of nightmare, grasping blindly for anything that would lead him away from that soul-rending vision.

Rionne leapt after him, and caught him to her, using a faint trace of Force technique to soothe him.

His eyes, wild and dark with horror, only slowly cleared as he surfaced from the dream, and she almost sobbed as she saw the glow of recognition swell in them, in tandem with an almost palpable expression of his love for her.

He grabbed her roughly and pulled her to him, as if to assure himself that this was, indeed, reality, as opposed to that bizarre dreamscape from which he had fled.

She smiled. "Easy, Love. The comm links are buzzing like mad. Our respite is over. We have to go."

His grin did not - quite - camouflage the intensity of his relief, as his lips claimed hers, firmly, hungrily.

"The Temple is calling," she laughed, twisting her face away.

"Later," he replied, kissing her again, until she was breathless.

"They said now," she managed.

He bent to explore the softness of her throat, as the comm links buzzed again. "I'm sure they did."

"What should we tell them?" she asked, moaning softly.

"Tell them . . . " He knelt on the bed to nibble at her breasts, "to . . ." His tongue worked its customary magic, "fuck off."

With a groan, she threw a pillow at the offending communications links and fell back onto the bed, pulling him with her.

It was almost noon when they returned to the Temple, the comm links having long since gone silent.

Rionne assumed that they would be called to answer for their failure to respond immediately to a Temple summons, but she found that she didn't much care. Obi-Wan never told her about his dream; he simply dismissed it as the stuff of nightmare, with a charmingly self-effacing little smile. But, somehow, she knew better. The quality of their lovemaking was different that final time; there was a trace of desperation in his eyes. Almost as if he had some idea that they would never be together again.

That, she knew, could not, would not, be true, but, nevertheless, a dark little cloud had formed on the horizon of their perfect day, and she could not quite convince herself that it was all a figment of her imagination.

So, for whatever reason, she gave herself up to him that one last time, and their passion seemed to explode in a frenzy of renewed need.

As they approached the Council chamber, they paused and turned to face each other. She reached out and adjusted the clasp of his cape, as he smoothed a stray lock of her hair.

_It's probably just as well they called us back._ A mischievous smile touched her lips.

_Why?_

_Because if we'd stayed any longer . . ._ her smile broadened . . . _I wouldn't have been able to walk._

He stepped closer. _If you need some Force healing . . ._

She backed away - fast. _Don't you dare, Kenobi. Already, I'm going to have to put up triple shields just to keep my thoughts off how fetching you look under that cape. Do not access anything . . . and I mean anything, that involves contact between any part of you . . and any part of me. Understood?_

_Understood. But you are kind of walking - strangely._

She reached out and touched his face. _I don't want any healing. It's rather like a . . .symbol of . . . a rite of passage._

Obi-Wan looked like he might have wanted to argue, but they were now in the anteroom of the Council Chamber, and a tall, pale twi'lek initiate stood to address them. "The Council," said the girl, very shrill and, for some reason, quite nervous, "have been expecting you." Her eyes swept down Rionne's figure and then, more slowly, up Obi-Wan's. "For a long time," she finished, not quite daring to sound accusing, but not quite inflectionless either.

"Then their wait is over," he said with a smile. "Isn't it?"

She bowed. "Yes, Master Obi-Wan. You may go right in."

Topaz eyes met blue/green and exchanged silent assurances of warmth and encouragement, as they pushed open the double doors and proceeded into the circular chamber.

They moved to the center of the room, side by side, bowed slightly, in tandem, and waited. For some moments, no one spoke; it was almost as if no one breathed.

"Late, you are," Master Yoda said, with an uncharacteristic sigh.

"We were . . . " Obi-Wan began.

"Your breath, do not waste with lies," interrupted the tiny troll, still without the depth of impatience he was renowned for.

"As I was about to say," said Obi-Wan, still completely unperturbed, "we were otherwise occupied." He regarded them complacently. He had no intention of lying to them, or evading any question they chose to ask, as Rionne concentrated on not smiling.

Strangely, the circle of Masters elected not to ask the one question that they both were waiting for.

"Are you ready for your next assignment?" asked Mace Windu, and Obi-Wan looked up quickly to catch the barest gleam of something - surely it couldn't really be amusement - in the dark Master's eyes.

"A mission?" asked Obi-Wan, not quite successful in concealing the flush of excitement that rose in his face. "But I thought we weren't going to be assigned any missions for a while."

"Unexpected, this one is," explained Yoda. "And necessary, for both of you."

"Both of us? Together?" asked Rionne, carefully neutral.

Yoda nodded. "A three-fold mission, this will be. Concerning you both." The elderly Master fell silent, and his huge, crystalline eyes focused on the two of them. So intent was his scrutiny that both knights almost gave in to the urge to squirm. Almost - but not quite. The rest of the Council appeared to be content to wait for whatever it was that Master Yoda had to say.

They were not, however, in any way prepared for what he did say. The little green troll climbed down from his comfortable chair, and moved toward Obi-Wan and Rionne. When he was standing directly before them, both knelt, knowing only too well the consequences of towering over him when he had something to say.

Yoda continued to look at both of them for several moments, before turning in a slow circle, sweeping the Council members with his gaze. "Alone with them, I must be," he announced, with the air of a being who has absolutely no doubt that his wishes will be obeyed.

There was a stir of uncertainty, as the Masters collectively asked themselves if they could possibly have heard the elderly Jedi correctly. Had Master Yoda just _dismissed_ the entire Jedi Council? Masters Gallia and Billaba seemed less confused than the other members, and rose quickly to make their exit. Billaba even managed to direct a quick wink at the young knight who had so long ago made the celebration of her knighting ceremony so vividly memorable. The rest seemed hesitant.

"Now!" roared the diminutive Master, and there was no further hesitation. The move to the massive double doors became a virtual stampede. Finally, only Mace Windu remained, standing in the doorway, his face a mask of concern.

"Are you sure, Master?" asked Mace gravely.

Yoda humphed audibly. "Sure of very little, am I. But know that this must be done, I do."

Reluctantly, but with a quick inclination of his head, Windu departed, closing the doors behind him.

Yoda wasted no time. "Bonded, you have," he said softly. His voice carried a world of regret.

Obi-Wan nodded. "How kind of you to offer your best wishes!" he said sharply.

_Whap!_ The young knight discovered all too quickly that the gimmer stick could still bite as sharply as ever.

"Be smart with me, you will not," grumped the Master. "If nothing else were involved, my congratulations you would have, despite everything. Too rare, sometimes, is love, among the Jedi. Too lonely, are we. But much more is at stake here than the fate of the two of you."

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply. "Anakin," he said, certain he was right.

"Ummm," replied Yoda. "Perhaps. But perhaps more important - you."

"Me?" Obi-Wan answered. "What about me?"

"Your dreams, young Kenobi," said Yoda, apparently evading the question. "You have them still?"

"Sometimes." The response was cautious - guarded.

Yoda turned to look into Rionne's eyes.

"If he will not answer truly, you must. The dreams?"

She reached out and clasped Obi-Wan's hand, as she squared her shoulders. "He still has them" she admitted as she squeezed his cold fingers. "Sorry, Love."

Yoda turned to gaze out across the brilliance of Coruscant. "Know you that these are not just dreams?"

Obi-Wan, who had, for weeks now, been trying to dismiss them as exactly that, seemed to sink into himself, and put his head down on his knee. "Are you telling me that they're visions, Master?"

"Not yet, perhaps. Maybe only possibilities, still. But growing stronger, young one. This, you know for yourself."

Desolation swept through the young Jedi as he remembered the agonizing image from his latest nightmare. He rose, with little of his customary characteristic grace, and moved to gaze through the window, his face haunted and bleak. "They can't be real. They can't be." He repeated it several times, as if it were a mantra that would ward off the terror.

"Ready, you must be," said Yoda, moving close to Obi-Wan, gazing steadily upward into his eyes. "Strong, you have always been, young one. Stronger still, you must be now. The fate of many rests in your hands."

"The mission?" Obi-Wan asked finally. 

"Requested you have been for this mission. And, given its nature, appropriate it seems that you should go. Both of you. Answers to the questions that trouble you, it may provide, though I cannot be sure. Clouded is the future. More clouded than it has ever been.

"Young Romy is to return to her people. Asked for you to take her back, she has. Also, Initiate Kammian has decided to accompany her. Good friends, it seems, they have become."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Very well, Master, but, forgive me, but it hardly seems such a difficult mission. A simple transport. I will, of course, go, but. . ."

"More to it, there is," Yoda said firmly. "New information have we, on the source of the virus which afflicted Mirilent Soljan."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened, and he was suddenly very alert. "What kind of information?"

"From an informant, of course. Like every effective peacekeeping force, we take our information where we can get it. From everything we have been able to learn, there is a laboratory on Dromeyla III - Romy's home world - that is doing intensive, highly classified research on designer viruses."

"Do we know who runs this laboratory?" asked Rionne.

"Not yet. We have our network hackers working on breaking codes and tracing finances, but nothing is completed, at the moment. For now, we have only rumor."

"And the rumor?" asked Obi-Wan, correctly identifying to tremor of dread in the tiny Master's voice.

"Dark Jedi," came the response, unadorned.

"Sith," said Obi-Wan. He wasn't swearing.

Yoda sighed as his ears drooped alarmingly. "Know that, we do not. But possible, it is. And, if so, your presence is even more necessary. For among us all, only you have faced one of them, in more than a thousand years. Only you have proven yourself capable of defeating one of them. Only you, perhaps, could even recognize them, for, despite the best efforts of the Council, the identity of the Sith Master remains undiscovered. Convinced, we are that he must be in a position of considerable political power, but no clues have we uncovered to help us in searching him out."

Obi-Wan nodded. "There was a certain distortion in the Force," he said slowly, struggling to find the right words, to suppress the emotional turmoil that suffused the memory of that fateful day, and express only the exact truth.

"I felt it as we approached him. But whether or not it was something generated by his connection to the Darkside, or something merely unique to him, personally, I couldn't say."

"Hmmm," mused the venerable Master. "Recognize it again, would you?"

Obi-Wan's eyes grew bleak and cold. "It was the feeling that smothered me as my Master was struck down. It's unlikely I could ever forget it."

"And felt it before, you have not?"

Obi-Wan started to answer - then paused, abruptly. His knee-jerk inclination had been to respond negatively, but suddenly, he wasn't quite so sure. "You know," he mused, "I have a strange feeling that maybe I _have_ felt it before - somewhere else - under vastly different circumstances, and only very slightly."

Yoda studied his face. "Important, it could be, young one."

Obi-Wan tried to coax the wisp of memory to solidify, but the more he reached for it, the further it receded from him. Finally, he shook his head. "Sorry, Master. It might have been nothing more than wishful thinking."

"Hmmmm. Unlikely. Given to fantasy, you are not. But leave it for now. Come to you, it will, when the time is right."

Obi-Wan rose. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," replied Yoda. "Awaiting the arrival of one final report from our informant, are we."

He waddled to the window where Obi-Wan was standing and gestured for him to kneel once more. Again, the wizened old Master stared deep into the young knight's eyes.

"What do you see, Master?" asked the young Jedi. "What has disturbed you so?"

"Answer, I would," replied Yoda, "if I could. I know not what rushes toward us, except that it rises in darkness, and you are the key. Be mindful, Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon taught you well; use what he gave you, but also use your own gifts."

Obi-Wan sighed and wished, not for the first time, that the ancient Jedi would, for once, speak plainly, and dispense with the riddles. "Yes, Master."

The young knight almost recoiled in shock as the diminutive Master leaned forward and dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead. "And now," said Yoda, turning away, "your padawan awaits, most impatiently. He has been eager for your return."

Obi-Wan grinned. "Eager?"

"Hmmmph. Bouncing off the walls, he has been. At once, you will go to him, while I speak to Master Aprelle."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, and opened his mouth to protest.

Yoda silenced him with one raised finger, and Obi-Wan stifled a grin, as he recognized a gesture that he, himself, often used with his own Padawan.

"Think you I am not to be trusted with your betrothed?" Yoda demanded, with a half-smile. "Jealous, are you?"

"No, Master."

"Then see to your padawan. Go with you on this mission, he must. The will of the Force, it is."

Obi-Wan turned to go, pausing only to exchange glances with his intended.

Rionne was silent for some moments following his exit - waiting - and, for some reason, dreading what the wizened old Master would say.

Yoda, for a while, seemed disinclined to break the silence, looking everywhere but at her. Finally, with a deep sigh, he came to stand before her. "The bonding," he said softly, "you have not yet completed, hummm?"

"No," she breathed. "We haven't had a chance to decide how we want to do it."

He turned and shuffled away, then turned back to face her. "Completed, it cannot be. Not yet. Perhaps not at all."

"With all due respect, Master, you can't. . ."

"Hush, Child," he said firmly, "I forbid you nothing. Too much pain and loneliness has he known in his young life. Give him everything, I would. Love him much, I do. Almost as much as his Master did. But the choice is not mine to make. The Force will decide, and wait, you must, until the decision is made."

"I don't understand," she said, still slightly defiant. "I'm good for him, Master. I can help heal all the pain inside him."

"Ummmm," he replied, "know this I do. But the risk may be too great. To you."

"I don't care about the risk to me," she said. "I . . ."

"Perhaps you care more for small things, not yet acknowledged. Risk yourself - risk everything."

She regarded him solemnly, before breaking into an embarrassed smile. "How did you know?" she demanded.

"Harder question is, why doesn't _he_ know?" he retorted. "Distracted, he is. More than he has let you see. Best, it is that he stays that way. For now."

She was silent, eyes shadowed with concern. "You surely don't think it would be dangerous to let him see everything?"

The tiny troll seemed to straighten himself and calm his breathing. "The best of the Jedi is he. The brightest hope, the purest heart. But vulnerable, he is, and will remain. Always willing to accept the weight of the universe on his own back."

"But isn't that a good thing? Doesn't that make him stronger in the Force?"

Yoda nodded absently, then stared at her with those huge eyes that seemed to see so much more than other people ever glimpsed. "Ask yourself this, Lady Rionne. What would he give to save his padawan? Or you? Or your child? What would he sacrifice?"

"His life," she replied, with no hesitation.

"Yes," sighed the Master, turning to gaze once more into the brilliance of the day. "But there is more than one way to give a life."

Rionne didn't know why, but she suddenly did not like the direction the conversation had taken.

"Time grows short, Young One." He looked at her again, and she was alarmed by the shadows in his eyes. "Enjoy the remainder of the day. Love him, while you can."

Her breath caught in her throat. "I want you to tell me what you mean by that," she said firmly.

But the wizened old Master had already said everything he meant to say. He simply regarded her in silence for a moment before turning and walking away.

Rionne lingered for a while, her knees suddenly weak and trembling. Much like Qui-Gon Jinn, Rionne's Jedi strength was in the Living Force. Which meant she had virtually no gift for prophecy. She had never missed it before; and she was fairly sure that she really didn't want it now. All she really wanted was to see - for one moment - what the little green troll saw, when he looked at Obi-Wan.

She sighed abruptly, before admitting something to herself. Something that was hard to swallow. Yoda wasn't the only one who could see; Obi-Wan was also seeing more than he was willing to disclose.

Both were sensing danger; that much was obvious.

She wrapped her arms around her midsection and rocked herself gently, humming a Chal-Si lullaby. She would do as the tiny Master asked, for a while . . a little while . . .a very little while. For she had no idea how long she could resist the delight of seeing the look on Obi-Wan's face when she told him.

She had no way of understanding that she had provided another hostage to Fate. The number was steadily growing.

***************** ********************** ******************

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan knew his padawan was somewhere nearby, concealed by the lush growth of the Jedi gardens. But the boy was choosing not to respond to his hail, and he had even gone so far as to erect a moderate mental shielding, that prevented the young Master from discovering exactly where he was.

"Anakin, I'm getting tired of this. I don't feel like playing games. So here I sit. Come out when you're done pouting."

And sit he did. Or rather, slouch, flinging himself down on a soft patch of grass, where a tiny cascade of water poured into a larger stream. The gardens were a study in lovely serenity at this hour - thinly populated, dappled with coins of sunlight, stirred by playful breezes.

It didn't take long for Anakin to decide he didn't like being ignored.

Obi-Wan looked up at his apprentice, and stifled a gasp, as a trick of the light rendered him a figure of shadow and darkness, looming above his Master's head.

"Ani," the young knight said, more calmly than he thought possible. "If you're angry with me, we should discuss it."

Anakin flopped, gracelessly, to the ground, propped his arms across his knees, and buried his face. "You left me," he accused.

Obi-Wan thought for a moment. "You're right. I did. How can I make it up to you?"

"Why did you leave me?"

"I'm not sure I can explain it to you, Ani, in a way that you could understand. It's - an adult thing."

Anakin raised his face and stared at his Master, and Obi-Wan suppressed an urge to shudder. "I understand more than you think, Master. I was a slave for a long time. Nobody much worries about how much a slave learns about things that you think only adults should know."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Anakin, if I could go back in time, and change your history, and take away all the ugly things that happened to you as a slave, I would. But I can't. But I do want you to understand that the things you may think you know are not necessarily the entire truth. If you think that sex is just a physical thing, you've still got a lot to learn."

"So you fucked her. That's what you're telling me, isn't it? That's where you've been. The great Obi-Wan Kenobi! So pure and noble. So perfect! Too busy screwing around to remember his padawan."

Obi-Wan smiled. "You think I forgot you?"

Anakin allowed his head to fall forward again, concealing his eyes. "Didn't you?"

"Look into your mind, to our bond. You already know the answer to that."

"But you didn't come back. For two whole days, you were gone, and you didn't think about me."

"Were you alone?"

"No, but . . ."

"Hungry?"

"No, but . . . "

"Cold?"

"No, but . . . "

"If you had needed me - really needed me, for anything - do you think I would have come to you?"

Anakin sniffled loudly. "Yes." It was an admission he was obviously reluctant to make. "But you fucked her, Master. Don't deny it. Like an animal."

"Ani," Obi-Wan's voice was terribly gentle, "is that what you think sex is? Something animals do?"

The boy's blue eyes, awash with tears, were seeing something far beyond the loveliness of the gardens. "Watto used to make me work the brothels sometimes. Cleaning up and stuff. And I saw . . ." He was suddenly incapable of speech.

Obi-Wan swept the child into his arms with one irresistible move and cradled him against his chest. "Oh, Ani," he said softly, "I'm so sorry. I'd give anything if I could undo what that monster did to you."

"Not your fault," answered the apprentice, comforted by the roughness of Obi-Wan's cape against his face.

The young Jedi drew back and looked down into Anakin's eyes. "Listen to me, Ani. One day, when you're a little older, you and I are going to sit down and talk about what sex really is. Everything that it is - and I'll answer any question you have. But for now, I need you to listen to me, and try to understand what I tell you."

Wiping his eyes with a semi-grimy fist, the boy nodded.

"When a man and a woman love each other - really love each other - sex is nothing like an animal act. It's more like a communion, of bodies and spirits. It's a joining - the ultimate expression of love. And it is not what you saw in a Tatooine brothel. Do you understand me?"

Anakin studied his Master's face. "Are you telling me that you love her, Master?"

"Yes, Ani. I do."

The boy's eyelids fell to conceal the shadows rising in his eyes. "Will you still care about me?"

Obi-Wan pulled the boy tight against his shoulder, and kissed his temple. "Anakin, is it possible you can't tell how I feel about you? Doesn't our bond tell you how important you are to me?"

Only the slight shaking of the boy's shoulders revealed that he was crying. Obi-Wan let him cry, soothing him with gentle hands stroking his back. "You didn't want me," sobbed the boy. "At first, you thought I was dangerous, and you didn't want to train me."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I didn't know you then. It takes a little time to learn to love someone."

"L-l-ove?"

"Love," Obi-Wan repeated.

"Y-you love m-me?" It was as if the possibility had never occurred to him.

"Of course, I love you. Didn't you know?"

For a moment, the boy was silent. Then, he abruptly twisted and threw his arms around the young knight's neck. "I love you, too, Master. Promise you won't leave me. Promise."

Obi-Wan pushed the boy back until he could see his face and smiled gently. "I promise that I will never leave you voluntarily, Ani. The Force may have other plans, but, as long as it's up to me, I'll be with you."

"And Rionne?"

"Will be with us, too. OK?"

"But she won't come between us. Right?"

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said slowly, feeling for the right words, "love isn't a contest to see who loves who more. We'll be a family, even if I am a little too young to be your father." His grin was infectious.

Mischief flared in Anakin's eyes. "Maybe I'll call you 'Papa'."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I'll call you 'Squirt' or 'Brat'. Would you like that?"

Anakin's face was virtually aglow now with contentment. "Maybe we should just stick to 'Master' and 'Padawan'."

"Agreed. Now. Let's go find Rionne and get some lunch. Then we'll figure out how to spend our afternoon."

When they met Rionne in her quarters, she noted that Anakin looked at her with new interest. Somehow, it made her less than comfortable. And, as the afternoon wore on, she found him watching her occasionally, a speculative gleam in his eye. It was almost as if he was entertaining ideas about how to take advantage of some new leverage he believed he had discovered.

Shortly, however, she elected to shrug it off, as she came face to face with her newly-unbonded Padawan, who was in the company of her new best friend, Romy.

Obi-Wan, ever the gentleman, sketched a little bow for them, and smiled. "I hear it's time to go home."

Romy's smile was tentative. "And I hear you're the one that's going to take me. Only appropriate, I guess, since you brought me here."

"Do we have a real name yet?" he teased.

"Her name," said Kammian coldly, her body language shouting with insolence, "is Lady Galia Ferresse. You should address her as 'Milady'."

"Kammian . . " said Lady Galia, obviously embarrassed by her young friend's hostile attitude.

"Of course, Milady," said Obi-Wan, unperturbed and without missing a beat. "I'll be delighted to escort you back to your home."

As the Lady Galia, so lately only Romy, continued down the corridor, Kammian stepped close to her former Master, and regarded her with a venal smile. "My, my, my, but we do look satiated, don't we? Tell me, Master! Was he as good as he looks?"

"Kammian," said Obi-Wan softly, "don't . . ."

"Don't what? Don't notice that you two have obviously been screwing your brains out for two days? Sorry, too late."

"That's enough, Padawan," said Rionne sternly.

"Oh, no, no, no," laughed the Cirsean, "that's not nearly enough. Because you can't call me that any more . . ." and she turned to stare at Obi-Wan, "and you'll never know what you missed."

She started down the hall, and every male within sight was abruptly, intensely aware that there had been a total change in the way she walked and moved. She was suddenly a completely sensual being, exuding heat without light. She was suddenly, overwhelmingly Cirsean. She glanced back over her shoulder and impaled Obi-Wan with a provocative stare. "Of course, there's still our little journey to come. Maybe you'd care to correct your error in judgment, when we're out there among the stars."

She walked away, and Rionne leaned close to whisper in his ear. "Breathe, Kenobi, and if you go anywhere near that little vixen's cabin on our trip out, I'm going to rearrange your anatomy so completely that even she won't be interested."

"Wow!" said Anakin suddenly. "Master, is this what they call a catfight?"

Rionne turned to stare at him. "Not yet, Little One. But the day's young."

And suddenly, the three of them erupted into easy laughter, and neither Obi-Wan nor Rionne noticed, as they entered the dining hall, that Anakin looked back to follow Kammian with his eyes, until she disappeared around a corner.

That night, after carefully erecting multi-layers of shielding around Obi-Wan's bed chamber, the lovers came together once more, and lost themselves in mutual delight. But, once more, there was a sense of desperation in their lovemaking, a sense of holding on for fear of falling too far to ever come back, a sense of finality. This leant a frantic breathlessness to their joining as well as a reluctance to let it end. When exhaustion finally took them, they remained mentally joined and emotionally entwined, and, somewhere deep beneath the layers of consciousness, increasingly uneasy.

*************** ******************* *****************

_You should have forbidden it._ The voice was more forceful than it had been during their last visit.

"A waste of time, that would have been, Young One. Can you not feel the tides of destiny moving around them?" Master Yoda managed to suppress a sigh, but nothing could conceal the sadness in his huge eyes.

_If he can't focus, he could be lost._ The pale, insubstantial image of Qui-Gon Jinn was a wraith against the foliage of the smallest of the meditation gardens.

"Too late, it is for such concerns. Either he has learned enough, or he has not. All we can do is wait."

_But she is a distraction._

"Agreed - but necessary, nevertheless."

_If I must . . ._

"Not this time, Padawan," said the aged Master. "This time, I will prevent your interference. Too much at stake, there is."

Midnight blue eyes, barely visible, swam with tears, too easily discernible. _He could be lost, Master. Easily. Lost._

"He could."

_Lost forever._

"Yes."

_Does he understand that?_

"He will. Before it is done, he will."

_He cannot be allowed to make this sacrifice._

Yoda stared down into the swirling waters at the bottom of a small basin. "Far too late, it is, for us to attempt a change. Ten years ago, perhaps. Not now. Now, only one can make such a change."

_Will he?_

A single tear escaped the diminutive Jedi's eye. "Who can say? Break his heart, or tear out his soul. Which will he choose? Which would any of us choose?"

_You're sure the choice will be presented to him?_

"Oh, yes. The only thing, this is, that I am sure of. Obi-Wan Kenobi will determine the future of the Jedi. Of this, there is no doubt."

_It will destroy him - one way or another._

"Yes. It will."

_Master, please, if you . . ._

"Qui-Gon," whispered Yoda, "if I could, don't you think I would? Stand in his place, I would, if allowed. Save him, I would, but that will not be an option.

_The Sith?_

"Yes. Known, I should have. Sensed it, I should have. Around him hovers a terrible, black hunger. Have him, it will, or destroy him in the attempt."

_And none can stand against it?_

"Only one." The wizened old Jedi was suddenly, excruciatingly weary. "And only the Force knows if he is strong enough."

_What can we do?_

Yoda sighed. "Stand and watch, Padawan. Stand and watch."

****************** ****************** ****************

It was not often that Darth Sidious actually laughed. Occasionally, he allowed himself a smug smile, or even an evil grin. Once in a great while, he might snicker. But he never laughed. Never. Except he _was_ laughing now. Cackling actually; almost giddy with glee.

"Yes!" he cried, eyeing his initiate with yellowing, rheumy eyes. "What fools to think they can shield from me!"

"I do not understand, Lord," said the initiate softly, sounding - just slightly - miffed. "I thought you wanted his body, reserved for your use. Yet, you rejoice in this - voracious coupling."

"That," said the dark Lord, "is why you will never be an apprentice, worthy of my attentions. You understand nothing. Love." He said it as if it were a pathetic excuse for a word. "Love makes him an easier target. Love will destroy him. And then - when he is destroyed - his body will be mine, to use as I see fit."

Sidious closed his eyes and saw the sculptured perfection of that young, pliant body, just as he sensed the tempestuous culmination of the Jedi's coupling. So sweet and intense were the sensations that he was almost - almost - tempted to dispense with the ministrations of his initiate.

Almost, but not quite.

As the sleek head bent to attend him, he imagined once more - as he almost always did these days - that it was Kenobi kneeling at his feet, and waiting to receive him.

_Soon, sweet Jedi._ He actually forgot himself enough to broadcast that brief message. For a moment, he was vaguely alarmed at his own breach of prudence, but then he realized that it was of no real matter.

All was almost ready. The trap, almost sprung.

And then, Kenobi would be his.

Sidious trembled with the force of his dark desires.

And the obsession grew.

***************** **************** ****************  
tbc


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Playing the Role

_The real test of a man is not how well he plays the role he has invented for himself, but how well he plays the role that destiny assigned to him._

\--- Jan Patocka (1907-1977) -Czech philosopher, activist

The first sweet blush of sunlight had barely touched the crowded horizon of Coruscant when a tall, cape-shrouded figure moved through the dawn-kissed dimness of the Jedi medical wing, carefully - and casually - bypassed a security lock-out, and entered the isolation ward. Of the five biobeds within the sterile treatment room, so packed with equipment and supplies and draped with tubes and cables that it was almost impassable, only one was occupied - and the occupant was so small she barely took up a quarter of the available space.

Obi-Wan, silent as a shadow, stopped and looked down at Healer Mirilent Soljan, noting that the virus that had confined her to this wretched place was still wreaking havoc with her immune system. Though she had been disconnected from a few of the myriad cables, monitors and tubes which wove around her like an open-work basket, many more remained firmly attached to her tiny body. Her skin, always silver pale, now revealed a bluish caste beneath the surface, and a face that might once have been described as pleasingly plump was now gaunt, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. Still, she was breathing on her own - without a respirator - and she appeared to be sleeping comfortably. 

He would not disturb her. He reached out and touched one silver curl lying against the nape of her neck, and turned to go.

"If you try to make it through that door," she said, still not bothering to open her eyes, "before you at least have the decency to give me a hug before going away, I'm going to shoot you full of sedatives and confine you to sickbay for a month."

He chuckled. "Good morning to you, too, Sunshine."

"Come back here."

Grinning, he returned to the bedside and perched on the edge of her bed. "How are you?" he asked. It was much more than just the standard rote question.

She favored him with a moderately successful attempt at a licentious leer. "Not as well as you, or so I hear. I'm completely amazed that - for once - you actually decided to take my advice."

He groaned. "Don't you people have anything better to do than talk about me?"

"What do you expect?" she replied, but there was no tartness in her voice now; it was achingly gentle. "When the loveliest knight in the Temple decides to take a lover - one who is almost as beautiful as he is - everyone is going to talk. And be pea green with envy, I might add."

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "You," he said firmly, "are exaggerating, as usual."

She shook her head. "Ignore me if you like, but I can tell you for a fact that you've created an epidemic of broken hearts. If you don't believe me, take a peek at the faces of all the girls you encounter in the halls. If they don't devour you with their eyes - while blinking back a telltale tear or two - I'll eat my hat. Watch and see."

"Okay," he said, knowing the only way to change the subject was to humor her. "I'll take a look. Now, answer my question. How are you?"

"Stronger every day," she replied, a determined glow in her eyes.

"Um-hmmm," he mused. "Want to climb out of that bed, and have breakfast with me?"

"I would," she answered, "but Varqa would probably stroke out. He's so protective, you know. He insists that I take everything slowly - much more slowly than I think is necessary."

"So you could get up, if you really wanted to?"

She reached up and grabbed a handful of his tunic to pull him down to her level. "I am perfectly capable of getting out of this bed and kicking your lovely little ass. If I wanted to."

He leaned further forward and gathered her up in his arms. "Nice try," he murmured. "Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not . . ."

"Mira," he breathed in her ear, "I've known you all my life. If I can't tell when you're lying, I'm a miserable excuse for a Jedi, wouldn't you say?"

She pulled away from him, and covered her eyes with trembling fingers. "Don't," she said, as he grasped the hand and moved it aside. 

Tears coursed down her cheeks, emphasizing deep wrinkles in the sweet face that had been plump and unlined just weeks before.

"Don't what? Don't see that you're still very sick?"

She reached out and cupped his face with both hands. "All I want," she said softly, "is to know that you're safe. I don't want you to go after this lab, Obi-Wan."

"Now how do you know about that?" he asked, amazed that, even here, completely isolated from the remainder of the Temple, she still maintained her private web of information sources.

"I don't want you to go," she repeated, ignoring his question.

He grasped her tiny hands with his own. "Sorry, Love. This time, I can't do what you want. I'm going."

The tears flowed more freely. "No. Please."

"Hey," he said soothingly, "it's going to be OK. I'm going to find the cure, for you. Did you ever doubt that I would?"

He rose as if to go but she clung to him now, surprisingly strong in her desperation. "If I die today," she said, "knowing that you will survive, that my life meant something because, once or twice, I saved yours, then I die a happy woman. But if you insist on going . . ."

He peered into her eyes for a long, silent moment. "You've had a . . . what - a premonition, haven't you?"

She buried her face against his robe. "I don't know what I've had. And I don't want to know. I just want you to stay here with me. Safe."

But he was adamant, addressing her with a gentle smile. "I won't be much good as a Jedi if I have to spend the rest of my life locked up in here, now will I?"

Her face, awash with tears as she raised it to look at him, touched his heart. "Please, Obi," she said brokenly. "Please don't go."

"Mira," he said softly, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, "I love you. I can't remember when I didn't love you. But I have to go. You know that."

She was almost sobbing now, fighting to maintain control, as she extended her hand and traced the exquisite line of his jaw. "You are so beautiful, my Obi." she managed to whisper. "My little boy."

He nodded, squeezed her hands once more, and was gone.

From beyond the parasteel window, Varqa Soljan gazed at his wife, his eyes dark with the reflection of her pain. When she collapsed in silent tears, he made no move to comfort her, for he knew there was no comfort to be found.

"Oh, my Obi," she whispered, "how will we live without you?"

She closed her eyes, but there was no solace in the darkness. It only reminded her that the light, which had, for so long, blessed them all, was gone now. She hoped she was wrong, but she didn't think so. The light would not return, or, if it did, it would be vastly different from what it had once been.

The lovely radiance of dawn suddenly suffused the Medical wing, chasing away the last, lingering traces of night, but it failed to touch the welling darkness in her heart - the darkness which, she feared, would only grow with every passing day, until it threatened to consume them all. 

But first, it would have to take the best of them, the brightest of them, and extinguish his warmth and brilliance. And he had just gone forth willingly, to meet it.

**************** ******************* ***************

Despite the early hour, the landing bay was busy and crowded. As Obi-Wan and Anakin arrived, several other parties were either already present or just coming in. Among them, to Obi-Wan's surprise, was the Naboo royal faction, complete with handmaidens, security personnel, and one astro-mech droid, preparing to board an air taxi.

Amidala greeted the young Master and his padawan with a broad smile. She embraced them both, explaining that her departure for Naboo had been delayed by trade negotiations with several Middle Rim worlds. Anakin, as always in her presence, was aglow with happiness, but the queen, when her eyes met Obi-Wan's, seemed somewhat pensive.

"Is something wrong?" he asked finally, when Anakin was distracted by an electronic chirp from Artoo.

"I don't suppose you can tell me where you're headed?" she asked, as Sabé moved to her side.

He smiled and shook his head. "Sorry."

Both Queen and handmaiden fell silent, simply looking at him for some moments. "You will be careful," Amidala said, finally, "won't you?"

"What is this?" he laughed. "Is every female on the planet going to obsess over my safety today? Of course, I'll be careful."

The Queen nodded, reached out and adjusted the cowl of his cape just slightly, and turned away. At which point, Sabé moved in, rose on tiptoe and planted a solid kiss directly on his mouth, at the exact moment that Rionne Aprelle strode through the hangar doors.

The handmaiden met the new arrival's gaze squarely before turning her eyes up to look deep into his. "So completely phregging unfair," she muttered. "Nobody should have eyes that color. None of us could bear to lose you, Pretty Jedi. That's why we're all obsessing. Stay safe, OK?"

He kissed her forehead gently. "You, too, and don't call me pretty."

Rionne's approach was casual enough, but her body language was so loud she might as well have been carrying a sign announcing that poachers would be shot on sight.

The two women exchanged very direct glances, managing, at the same time, to hold an entire conversation, without a word spoken. There was nothing original in it; it was undoubtedly, almost verbatim, the same conversation that had been taking place between women competing for the affections of the same man, since time immemorial. A warning, a caution, a reluctant agreement, and, finally, grudging respect.

Obi-Wan actually squirmed; Rionne and Sabé laughed softly, both charmed by his discomfiture.

Into this somewhat simmering atmosphere strode Master Ramal Dyprio, completely unaware that, from Obi-Wan's perspective, he was a godsend.

"I'm off to see Ciara," he announced abruptly. "Any messages?"

"Give her my love," said Obi-Wan. "And tell her I miss her."

As Sabé moved away, Rionne linked her arm through his and grinned. "Tell me something, Kenobi. Is there any woman in this entire Temple that you don't send your love to?"

He appeared to think it over. "I think there might be a clerk or two down in the Archives that I haven't met yet."

Dyprio stood smiling throughout the exchange, noting, with satisfaction, the proprietary way the young knight tucked Rionne's hand against his side and gazed down into her topaz eyes. This kid, according to the swarthy Master's ideas, had had entirely too much grief in his young life; it was time he caught a break - and Rionne Aprelle, to Ramal's way of thinking, was the break to end all breaks; a woman for which any man - Jedi or not - would sell his soul.

Dyprio frowned, wishing suddenly that he had not worded it quite that way, though he wasn't sure why it mattered.

"Take care, my friend," he said abruptly, extending his hand, which Obi-Wan promptly grasped. "I'd hate to see you get yourself grounded again, now that you've learned to fly."

"Thanks for everything, Ramal," replied Obi-Wan. "I'll see you soon."

Dyprio turned to run for his shuttle, which was already firing its engines. Nevertheless, he took an extra moment to turn back and look once more at Kenobi. He could not have said why, but something within him suggested he better take one last look - while he could.

All in all, he admitted as he scrambled aboard his transport, he had a bad feeling about this.

As both Dyprio's shuttle and the Naboo air taxi departed, the noise level in the bay decreased somewhat, but only briefly. Next to arrive, dwarfing practically every other vehicle within the hangar, was the _Main Chance_ , Trex Longo maneuvering into the relatively narrow bay with casual finesse. He set down in the exact middle of the available space, and extended the boarding ramp, which came to rest no more than a two-meter distance from where Obi-Wan and Rionne stood waiting.

"Wow!" said Anakin, impressed despite himself. "Can I learn to do that, Master?"

Obi-Wan mumbled something unintelligible.

"Say what?" asked Rionne, with a smile, as the padawan went tearing toward the rear of the vessel, to get a closer look at banks of injector ports.

"I said," Obi-Wan muttered with a wry grin, "he probably already can - he just doesn't know it yet."

As Captain Longo came strolling down the boarding ramp, the remainder of their party arrived at the hanger doors.

Someone - probably either Depa Billaba or Adi Gallia - had had the good sense to provide Romy - Lady Galia, that was - with suitable attire for her return to Dromeyla III. As a royal concubine, it was extremely unlikely that it would have been appropriate for her to travel in the kind of nondescript, style-less clothing so beloved of the Jedi. Although, thought Rionne, with a glance at her companion, some people managed to transcend the lack of panache. She closed her eyes briefly, and pictured Obi-Wan, fully dressed but sans robe, simply walking across a room, his motion somehow incorporating that tiny nuance of swagger that she found so irresistible, and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she would never in her life find anything else as sexy - or as irresistible.

At any rate, the royal concubine was now clad in dark gray synthsilk, softly draped and exquisitely tailored. In addition, someone had tamed the mass of wild curls into a modest coiffeur and applied a modicum of make-up, so that Romy looked less like a nature boy from the wilds of Ragoon 6 and more like a member of a royal court. Her demeanor had changed as well; she seemed well-suited to the role she was to play.

On the other hand, her companion was a pegei of a different color - or a whole herd of them, for that matter. Kammian, having effectively severed her connection to the Jedi, had apparently now decided that she would no longer be content to be half Cirsean; instead, she would now be double Cirsean. Or maybe, triple Cirsean. And the first step in that process, apparently, had been to pour herself into a platinum-colored jumpsuit, in which there wasn't room for so much as a microbe between skin and metallic fabric. In addition, she had applied make-up - quite skillfully - so that her eyes seemed to engulf the consciousness of any man looking at her, and her lips, to invite an exploratory nibble. And the gleam of her frost-colored hair, falling loose now to her waist, almost demanded to be touched.

Rionne suppressed the urge to smile as she heard Obi-Wan's breath catch in his throat. She knew it was totally instinctive; knew he couldn't have prevented it if he'd impaled himself on his own lightsaber; and knew he was totally mortified by it - more for her sake than his own. Finally, helplessly, she laughed, and leaned toward him. "Close your mouth, Kenobi. Where's all that legendary Jedi calm?"

"Jedi? Calm?" For a moment, he just stared blankly, then he flashed her a sheepish grin. "Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry about that."

Rionne pretended to turn a critical eye on the girl. "What's the big deal? She's not so much."

He grinned. "Me-e-o-o-w."

She chuckled softly as she grabbed his chin and impaled him with her eyes. "Just remember, my little munchkin, this kitling has big claws. It would be a shame if I had to use them, to claw the little witch's eyes out."

Quickly, though not with any embarrassment, he ducked his head and kissed her. "Not to worry, my lady. I can think of much better things for you to do - with your claws - among other things."

"Stop that, you scamp. How am I going to concentrate on the job at hand, with you saying things like that?"

He glanced back at Kammian, then down at Rionne - who wore her own, fetchingly customized Jedi garb with decided panache. "You're asking me how to concentrate," he muttered. "Between the two of you, I'll be lucky if I can find my way to the fresher."

As he started to pull away, she stopped him, and waited for him to meet her eyes. "You don't have to find your way to anything, except me. Clear?"

And, once more, he dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. "I will always find you," he breathed, before going forward to confer with Trex Longo, providing he could ever subdue his still-chattering Padawan.

Rionne squared her shoulders and moved to greet the new arrivals. "Lady Galia," she said softly. "Good morning. Shall I show you to your quarters?"

Romy - who was still not accustomed to the strange name which someone claimed was hers - could not quite suppress a frown. "I thought Master Obi-Wan was assigned to escort us."

"He is, and so am I."

"Since when," demanded Kammian, her strident voice in violent contrast to her seductive appearance, "does it take two knights and a Padawan for a simple diplomatic escort?"

Rionne smiled. "The Council has its reasons."

"You're not going to try to change my mind, are you?" demanded the girl, a sneer in her tone if not on her face.

"Not at all," said Rionne. "The decision is entirely yours, but it is my responsibility to make sure that you have a viable alternative to staying at the Temple. You are, after all, still under age."

"And if I didn't? What could you do about it?"

"Kammian," Rionne reasoned, "whatever you may think, I'm not your enemy. I know you believe I failed you in our relationship. And I accept the responsibility for that. I am, after all, the adult here. But I hope you understand that I'm only concerned for your welfare."

The Cirsean stepped close to the knight and took a deep breath. "Very touching. But it might be a little more convincing, if you didn't still have the smell of him all over you."

"Kammi, he's a grown man. You're still a child. You . . ."

"I'm Cirsean," she hissed, eyes blazing. "And more of a woman than you'll ever be. You'll never be able to give him what I could have."

Rionne regarded her steadily. "I want to ask you something," she said quietly. "Just between the two of us."

Kammian looked suspicious, but she nodded nevertheless. "Garen," said Rionne. "Did he really . . ."

The Cirsean teen-ager smiled, and it was not a pretty smile. "You'd like it if I said no, wouldn't you? Your conscience would be clear then, wouldn't it? And you could go to his bed and reassure him about the purity of his friend, couldn't you?"

"I'm only interested in the truth."

"The truth?" the girl echoed. "The truth. OK, Master." The term dripped sarcasm. "How's this for truth? If you had satisfied him, he would have left me alone."

"Kammian," said Lady Galia suddenly, "that's enough. I know you strike out to hurt others to defend yourself, but you only end up hurting yourself more."

The Cirsean responded by lowering her eyes, but Rionne could tell by the stiffness of her posture that she was still awash with anger and bitterness.

"I'm really sorry, Kammi," said the Jedi Master solemnly. "I would have done anything to spare you what happened to you. I know you probably don't believe that, but it's true."

Once more, those brandied eyes opened, and harbored a smile that sent a chill down Rionne's back. "So you want to make it up to me? Shall I tell you how to do that? Just send him to me, for one night. Then let him choose."

"Kammi," said Rionne, a smile of her own trembling on her lips, "I begin to think we've all mistaken you for someone you're not. So let me put this in a way - in two ways - that you can't possibly misunderstand. On the off chance that there's still a frightened, vulnerable child somewhere inside you, you can be certain that either Obi-Wan or I will do absolutely anything we can to help you through this. On the other hand, if this little hellion is the real you, just remember this; when it comes to a fight over a man, this Chal-Si bitch is going to kick your little Cirsean ass. Got it?"

Kammian actually laughed. "Well, hallelujah! Finally, some honest emotion. Now if I can just get Obi-Wan to admit he wants nothing more than to rip my clothes off and screw my brains out, we'll be making real progress."

Rionne deliberately turned her back on her former padawan, and smiled down at Lady Galia. "I think it's wisest to just end this conversation here, before someone winds up bruised and bloody. Come, and I'll show you to your cabin."

Romy returned the smile. "She's still very hurt, you know," she said very softly. "Give her time. She may yet even find her way back to the Jedi."

Rionne nodded. "But not to me."

"No. Not to you." Romy obviously knew that any explanation was superfluous. The reason for the enmity - which would probably never fade - was walking toward them now, that ever-so-sensuous stride in plain sight as he studied the mission summary in his hand.

As the women moved to board, the final member of their mission team came tearing through the hanger door, carry-sacks drooping from every possible appendage.

Obi-Wan regarded Gragg Runoz solemnly as the apprentice healer skidded to a stop before the young knight.

"Got everything?" asked Obi-Wan, eyeing the ominous collection of bags.

Runoz heaved a deep sigh. "How should I know? She only just decided to send me, so I had almost no time to put things together. I think it's all here."

Trex Longo was patently not impressed. "What is all that?"

"Genetic testing equipment, mostly," replied Runoz. "If we find the . . . " He had cause to clutch at his throat momentarily as Obi-Wan, desperate to shut him up, abruptly cut off his air with a quick gesture.

"Discretion, Apprentice," said the young Jedi, releasing his hold.

Runoz coughed sharply, and tried to pretend he hadn't just had ten years of his life scared out of him. "Sorry, Master Obi-Wan. I forgot."

"Ummm. Don't 'forget' again."

"OK. If we find what we're looking for, I need to be able to run tests - to see if the material is genuine. And also, to protect us from whatever else we might come across."

Obi-Wan once more scanned the assortment of bags and duffles. "You don't have Mirilent tucked away in one of these, do you?"

Runoz grinned. "No, but not for her lack of trying."

"Is this the lot?" asked Longo. "I feel like I'm running a passenger service here."

Obi-Wan smiled. "We'll do our best to see that you don't get bored, Captain"

Longo looked like he'd swallowed something bitter. "With you around, that isn't usually a problem."

At that moment, Anakin squirmed free of the engine housing he had been inspecting. "Wow, Master, you should see some of the stuff he's incorporated in here. Of course, some of it might blow us out of the sky, but it's. . ."

"Ani," Obi-Wan interrupted, raising one hand, "I don't think I want to know. But you and Captain Longo can discuss it to your heart's content."

Longo grinned down at the boy. "Tell you what, Anakin. My first mate has decided that he's had quite enough Jedi exposure for a while. Particularly, in relation to one particular Jedi." He tossed a grin to Kenobi. "Would you like to fill in for the duration?"

"Would I!" Anakin beamed. 

The ex-pirate raised his eyebrows. "With your Master's permission. Of course."

"Can I, Obi-Wan? Can I? Please."

Obi-Wan thought about all the material in the mission report - the material that he had intended to insist that Anakin read. But then he looked down into the boy's eyes, and read the naked need there - the need to be a child again - for just a little while.

There was no trace of the stern Jedi Master in his face as he knelt before his padawan. "Sure, Ani. Knock yourself out."

Unexpectedly - for the boy was often reticent in the presence of other people - he threw his arms around Obi-Wan's neck and pressed his face against his Master's shoulder. "Love you, Master," he said softly.

Obi-Wan quickly rubbed his hand across the soft spikes of the boy's padawan haircut - the very same haircut that was only just beginning to grow out on his own pate - and replied, "Love you, too, Kiddo. Now let's go. Daylight's wasting."

**************** ***************** ***************

Their departure from Coruscant was fairly uneventful, except for a couple of barrel rolls that Anakin couldn't resist executing once they were clear of the lower atmosphere, much to the delight of his young Master and Trex Longo. Neither Gragg Runoz nor Lady Galia, however, was thrilled with the maneuvers - both claiming inner ear distress, although Obi-Wan thought privately that the problem was more in their imaginations than in reality.

Once jump co-ordinates were set, Ani and Longo happily immersed themselves in the endless fascinations of hyper-drive mechanics, while Obi-Wan and Rionne prepared to review the mission reports concerning the virus research lab. According to Longo, they had almost two full days before making planetfall at Dromeyla III.

It was almost seven hours later that the two knights raised bleary eyes from data screens and exchanged weary smiles. "Okay," she said softly. "Here's the sixty-four daktari question. What do you know now that you didn't know six hours ago?"

He sighed. "Basically, not a damned thing."

The mission report was mostly composed of trails of money transactions, and supply reports, detailing purchasing and distribution of materials within the suspect lab, and financial tracings of investors. It suggested collaboration with several less savory corporate entities within the Republic, but the data was inconclusive at best.

The most interesting part of the report was also the least substantiated: rumor and innuendo and gossip. All highly inflammatory; all theory and conjecture.

They had a name: Avenger.

Granted, it wasn't a very propitious name for an enterprise. But that hardly constituted a crime, or even just cause for suspicion.

They had an address - deep in the industrial waterfront district of the city of O'meria on Dromeyla III's southern continent.

They had a list of investors, none of which had been traceable.

They looked at each other and grinned. "We got nothing," they intoned together.

He leaned forward and captured her lips with his own, and proceeded to kiss her breathless. "Except one huge appetite," he murmured.

"For?"

"A bantha steak as big as my head - and you. Not necessarily in that order."

She rose and came around the table to stand behind his chair and drape her arms around his neck. He twisted his head to look up at her, and, finally just turned the chair around, so she could sit down astride his lap. "I seem to recall," he murmured against her lovely throat, "that this position gets us in trouble sometimes."

She smiled and kissed his eyelids. "But not right this minute. There's something I have to do first. So I want you to go find your king-sized bantha steak, pay some attention to your padawan, play host to our star-faring guests, and then come to me, in my cabin. Give me about an hour."

"What are you up to?" he asked with a grin. 

Her lips claimed his, and, for a moment, he forgot his question; indeed, he forgot everything, except the heat of her and the feel of her and the taste of her, and, of course, his need for her.

"Trust me," she whispered, when she pulled away, stood abruptly, and left him there. For some moments, he was completely incapable of coherent thought - much less movement.

************** ********************* ****************

Actually, it took a little more than an hour, and he never did get his bantha steak. He was much too busy trying to discourage the attentions of one hormonally-manic Cirsean teen-ager; soothe the anxieties of one tiny Dromeylan royal concubine, who was having major doubts about returning to a life she had no memory of; and calm his padawan, who was so wound up that Obi-Wan finally had to resort to a Force-enhanced suggestion to get him to sleep.

Once that multi-crisis was behind him, the young Jedi turned to find Trex Longo regarding him with blatant sympathy. "Want a drink?" asked the ex-pirate.

Obi-Wan smiled wearily. "Don't tempt me."

Longo nodded. "How about a ration bar?"

The young knight laughed. "Compliments of the chef?"

The captain had the grace to flush. "Actually, my first mate is the cook. I can't even make decent jaffa. The ladies - and young Runoz - fended for themselves okay. But I'm game to try it, if you're really hungry. There's food in the galley."

But Obi-Wan's hunger had subsided. Once he had made sure that his padawan had eaten, he just lost interest.

Besides, by this time, his curiosity concerning whatever Rionne was doing was almost unbearably intense. It was time to find out.

***************** ******************* ****************

When he tapped lightly at her door, the response was muffled - non-verbal. He wasn't even entirely sure that it _was_ a response, but he pushed on the door anyway, and it swung open at his touch.

He stepped across the threshold and stopped. For he could see very little of the interior of the cabin. On a low table directly in front of him, he saw an enormous white candle, with three flames guttering atop its broad surface. That was the only source of light.

"Rionne?" he said softly. "Where are you?"

Her voice, when it came from the shadows beyond the candle, was silky soft - very tender. "Please kneel by the candle, Obi. Everything is almost ready."

He did as she asked, and tried to see her beyond the flames, but she remained only a pale shadow, against darker shadows.

Gradually, he became aware that she was saying something - something rhythmical and measured. A chant, he thought, but too soft for him to understand.

Finally, she fell silent, and, as she rose, he realized that she had been kneeling as well, but further back from the flame.

She walked toward him, her arms outstretched to the side, and he inhaled sharply, as he was finally able to see her clearly.

She wore a ceremonial gown of pale green synth-silk, heavily embroidered with Chal-Si life symbols: tovia blooms, greblit trees, and the plumage of the great namalin birds. The long, full sleeves were edged with Calamarian pearls, and a web of the same lustrous gems was woven through her hair. In her hands, she held a golden dremlet, the simple instrument used by the Chal-Si in the implantation of b'riffia jewels.

As she knelt before him, her knees just touching his, he thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

For a moment, she simply stared at him. 

"Do you consent?" she asked finally.

"To anything you wish," he replied without hesitation.

"You recognize that this is the Chal-Si bonding ritual?"

"Yes."

"You realize that the Chal-Si bond is virtually unbreakable?"

"Yes."

"You wish to proceed?"

"Yes."

Her smile was radiant as she leaned forward and, with a deft quick twist of her wrist, activated the dremlet, and embedded one dark topaz stone in the soft flesh under his jawline.

She then discarded the instrument, and placed her hands in his. "Heart to heart, soul to soul, life to life. Joined before the gods; joined within the Force."

She nodded then for him to repeat the ceremonial words, which he did.

"In the purity of our union, the wrongs of the past are burned away. We have only today and tomorrow. I pledge you my being, for all eternity."

Again, he repeated her words.

She smiled. "You may now make any statement you wish to make."

He simply stared at her, awed by her beauty. "I can't conceive of inhabiting a universe without you in it. You are my light and my life, until time itself comes to an end."

He kissed her then, with infinite gentleness.

"And you," she replied, "are the center of my existence. I will love you for all the days of our lives. I will treasure you above all things, as I treasure now the precious life growing within me."

At first, it didn't quite register. And when it did, he wasn't entirely sure that he'd heard her correctly.

And then, with a suddenness that took his breath away, he knew - not only by virtue of her words, but through the Force, in which he should have sensed it earlier. He looked at her with tears of wonder in his eyes.

"A boy," she whispered, "who will be a small replica of his father. A golden warrior."

"And a poet," he whispered, "Like his mother. Only not half so beautiful, I fear. For no one could be."

She leaned forward and placed her fingers against his temples, as he did the same. "Are you ready?" she asked. "This is not easy, My Obi. As much as we love, to completely lower our shields to each other - with nothing held back - is not easy."

"I'm ready," he whispered. "I've been waiting for you all my life."

She nodded. They closed their eyes, and began, systematically, to dismantle the mental and emotional shielding that had been instilled in both of them since they were very young. Not even in the link between Master and Padawan were all shields lowered. Only in a lifebond was such openness required, or advisable.

It was not a quick process, and, when it was done, both were stunned by the quickening of senses never before accessed. For a time, each became the other. There were no secrets, nothing hidden, nothing forbidden. And the love between them grew and flourished and filled them with light. It was a rite of exploration, of passage from one reality, to the next. Neither would ever be completely the same again. And, in the normal course of things, neither would ever know what it was to be truly alone.

When it was done, they simply stared into each other's eyes, speechless with wonder.

Finally, she rose and took his hand. "Come to bed, Husband," she breathed.

He placed his hands on her belly, and sent waves of warmth and affection through the Force to the growing child. "Will it harm him?" he asked.

She smiled. "He will only feel our love."

She saw shadows rise in his eyes. "Should you be on a mission?" he asked. "It could be dangerous."

She nodded. "It could. And, when we get back, I'll request restricted duties. But I'm not sick, Love. Pregnancy doesn't make me an invalid or mean that I can't function normally."

He kissed her gently. "I love you, Wife. Let me show you how much."

She nuzzled the b'riffia stone that gleamed softly in the lovely curve of his jawline. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Nothing you could ever do to me would hurt."

She favored him with a wicked grin. "Don't be too sure, Kenobi. If I catch you with that little Cirsean witch, I could give a whole new meaning to the word."

"Point taken," he laughed. "Come to bed, Wife."

Within the next hour, he disproved an old theory propounded by many of his randy young friends. Several of them had always insisted that illicit sex, for whatever reason, must be imminently more satisfying than marital sex. He didn't know how they thought they knew that, but it was his distinct pleasure to prove them wrong.

***************** ***************** *******************

It was still far from morning when an insistent beeping woke him from a sound sleep. Moving carefully, to avoid waking Rionne, he keyed the comm switch, and murmured, "Kenobi."

"Can you come to the cockpit, please?" Trex Longo asked, keeping his voice pitched low. "Got a situation up here."

"On my way," he replied. He paused only long enough to drag on trousers and boots, against the cold of the deck, and tuck covers around his still-sleeping wife.

"What's up?" he asked, yawning hugely, as he flopped into the co-pilot's chair.

"Distress call," answered Longo, flipping a switch on the comm panel.

"To all vessels, this is the ore freighter, Bals Ebux, out of Bothawai. We have encountered a Force 6 gravitic disturbance and are losing hull integrity. Total crew compliment is 19. Casualties - 6, to this point. We are invoking Article 29, Sect. 7, Par. 3b of the Interstellar Maritime Code, requiring immediate course change to effect rescue in instances of impending disaster. Co-ordinates to follow."

"It's an automated call," remarked Obi-Wan. "Any way of knowing when it was issued?"

"No, but it's pretty strong. And the co-ordinates are only about 17 light minutes away."

Obi-Wan nodded. "OK, no choice then. Guess we take a detour."

Longo nodded. "Shouldn't delay us too long, provided we don't have to go to heroic measures to get them out."

"Your shuttle?"

But Longo shook his head. "Still banged up from the tower fiasco."

The young knight moved to the nav-computer to reconfigure their flight computations.

Longo glanced over and noted the b'riffia gem under his jaw. "Congratulations," he said softly.

"What?"

The ex-pirate touched his own jawline with his forefinger. "Looks like a new development to me."

Obi-Wan nodded, blushing slightly. "Thanks." 

"Sub-light, now," said Trex Longo, pulling back on the hyperdrive controls.

The surreal distortion of hyperspace vanished, and star lines appeared, just before there was a massive jolt, and the _Main Chance_ shook as if gripped by some maddened celestial hound.

"What the . . ." Longo, ever articulate, scanned sensors and monitors and panels, looking, in vain, for a clue to the origin of the problem.

Obi-Wan leapt to his feet, the Force screaming in his ear. "There's something out there," he shouted, above the alarms now blasting from the ship's speakers.

Longo was transfixed by the scarlet flash of a reactor overload warning. "Oh, shit," he muttered. "Kenobi, I've got to shut down the power, or she's going to blow like a cheap hooker."

Kenobi, even in this extremity, almost objected to the ex-pirate's metaphor, but, in the end, ignored it. He groped for the ship-wide address system, finally reaching it on his third try. "We're under some kind of attack. Please try to remain calm, and be ready to follow instructions to the letter."

"Obi?" said Rionne, through her Jedi comm link. "What do you want me to do?"

"Get Anakin for me," he answered calmly. "And get to the escape pods. Just in case. Tell the others, too." He paused. "And be careful, Love."

"You too. Love you."

"Anything?" asked Obi-Wan, turning back to Longo.

The ex-pirate had managed to shut everything down, but the warnings continued to flash. He looked over at Obi-Wan, and the young knight saw a wash of tears in his eyes. "I think this is it, young Master. She's going to blow."

"From what? What caused this?"

Longo shook his head and gazed out through the trans-parasteel canopy. "I don't know how, but I'd bet my last daktari it had something to do with _that_!"

Obi-Wan followed Longo's gaze, and saw a huge swirling distortion in space, like a cosmic sinkhole, crackling throughout with some kind of static energy. Through the distortion, he saw what appeared to be an asteroid field, but it was impossible to determine accurate measurements of depth or distance.

"Get to the escape pods," said Longo. "We're running out of time."

"The escape pods may be caught up in whatever that is, as well."

Longo nodded. "Agreed, but they're the only game in town. Since they launch from the hanger deck, in the stern, there may be sufficient impetus in the initial blast to throw them free of whatever this is. Go, and hurry."

Obi-Wan paused. "What about you?"

The ex-pirate smiled. "My ship. I don't leave her."

"But . . ."

"No buts. Those people are your responsibility. This ship is mine. She's all I have, Jedi. You understand that?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes. I do."

Longo clasped the young Jedi's shoulder firmly. "I thought you would. Now get out of here. There's a habitable planet nearby, if these earlier sensor readings are reliable. If I manage to pull through this, I'll come for you. If not, the automated beacon is already broadcasting. Someone will come along soon."

Obi-Wan reached out and shook the captain's hand. "May the Force be with you," he said softly.

The big ex-pirate nodded. "Now, go. While you still can."

***************** *************** **************

The _Main Chance_ appeared to be going through death throes, heaving and bucking against whatever energy was affecting it. As Obi-Wan ran through the corridors, he noted that the bulkheads were beginning to distort and forcefields were sparking and smoking, signaling imminent collapse.

The shuttle bay was pandemonium, with equipment and supplies flying every where, in constant upheaval as massive shudders seemed to rise in the hull.

Thankfully, Rionne had managed to get everyone to the bay, but they had not yet entered the miniscule escape pods, pods which would only accommodate three people at a time.

"Get in the pods," Obi-Wan shouted. "Now."

"I can't get in there," cried Kammian, panic flaming in her eyes. "I can't. I'd rather die here."

But Obi-Wan was not in the mood for tantrums. With one fluid move, he picked the girl up and carried her into the pod. He spared a moment to be grateful that no one else appeared to be panicked. 

"Everybody in. Now."

He fought to strap the teen-ager into the pod, but she was fighting against him, her terror overwhelming her common sense.

"Rionne," he shouted, "take Anakin and Gragg in the other pod. I'll get her strapped in here. Romy, you get in here with her. Maybe you can calm her down."

"M-master," called Anakin, " I wa-want to. . ."

Obi-Wan had to resist - strongly - the urge to slap the frightened Cirsean. "Anakin," he answered calmly, "I know. I want the same thing. But we don't always get what we want. I want you to take care of Master Rionne for me. OK? She's - um - in a very special condition right now, and she'll need your help. Will you do that for me?"

"Y-yes, Master." It was obvious that the boy was not really mollified, but he would do what he was asked, no matter how hard it might be.

 _I'll take care of him, my Love._ The message was soft and gentle, and cool against his fevered mind.

 _Just make sure you take care of yourself._ And he sent her a mental kiss.

"Kenobi," came a shout from the ship's speakers, "if you're going, it better be now. We're about to lose atmospheric containment."

With no further instruction from him, Rionne secured her pod and hit the launch control, propelling the tiny spheroid out into the hard vacuum of space. Obi-Wan, however, never got the chance to exercise a controlled exit. As he was securing the hatch, Kammian tripped the launch override, and the pod shot out of the launch bay, at almost twice the normal speed. Both Kammian and Romy were secured against the violence of the launch, but Obi-Wan was not. With his first collision with the duranium bulkhead, he heard bones snap; with his second, he heard nothing, as consciousness eluded his grasp, and with his third, he risked never hearing anything again.

******************* *************** ******************

It wasn't much of a world, by anyone's standards. Lots of swamp and lowlands, plenty of insects, all under a wet, smothering heat. If there was civilization here, it was concealing itself remarkably well.

Romy and Kammian had managed to free themselves from the hulk of the escape pod, and they had even managed to drag Obi-Wan free of its distorted confines. But, from there, they had no idea how to proceed. Kammian, despite being a Jedi Padawan for a number of years, had very limited field experience, and Romy, of course, had none at all.

They did manage to stop the bleeding from a multitude of gashes and cuts that made a patchwork of his body, and they had straightened his arm, which had been bent at a strange, nauseating angle when they had pulled him from the pod. Neither mentioned the ominous bruising that mottled his left temple and disappeared into an ugly swelling running up through his hair. There was little they could do about that, or about the shallowness of his breath. 

As a steamy, malodorous rain began to fall, quickly drenching them to the skin, they tried to shelter him as best they could, pulling him deep under the foliage of a low-branched tree. But it wasn't working very well. He was quickly soaked to the skin, and, despite the heat, he was soon starting to shiver.

"Kammi," said Romy, chewing on her lower lip. "He could die here."

"Oh, no," said a voice, from the hill rising above them. "We can't have that now, can we? Then all would be lost."

A dark figure descended the hill, face obscured by a heavy hood. Quickly, the man - for surely, despite a shadowed aura that seemed to flow around him, this was only a man - bent and trailed sharp-clawed fingers along the young knight's jawline, pausing for just a beat on encountering the newly-embedded b'riffia jewel.

"At last," breathed that ominous voice - a voice that Obi-Wan would have recognized instantly, had be been awake - the voice of nightmare.

"Can you save him?" Romy asked breathlessly.

The tall figure knelt, and ran eager hands over the Jedi's wounds, which immediately began to disappear. "Of course, I can save him. I was always meant to save him."

He looked over to where the two women hovered, neither entirely sure that his intervention - necessary as it undoubtedly was - would have met with the young knight's approval. A cold, dreadful smile lit the new arrival's face, as Obi-Wan moaned softly. "Welcome home," said the dark stranger, waving his hand in a curious, almost ritualistic motion. "You have done well. Today, he will be mine."

***************** ******************** *****************  
tbc


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: One More Starry-Eyed Messiah

 

_. . the flock cries out for another;_  
_They keep answering that bell._  
_One more starry-eyed Messiah_  
_Meets a violent farewell._

\------Don Henley/Glenn Frey - _Learn to Be Still_

 

Rionne Aprelle wiped sweat from her forehead for the third time in as many minutes, and tried to concentrate on interpreting the data scrolling down the tiny screen of her portable scanner. But, since the device was functioning erratically, she wasn't sure she could trust her conclusions. And since her connection to the Force also seemed erratic, she couldn't put much trust in that either. According to young Anakin - who seemed remarkably sure of his conjectures, given their current condition - the planet's magnetic fields were in a state of flux, which accounted for the bizarre misbehavior of many of their electronic gadgets. Although it occurred to Rionne that, if the padawan was right, the entire situation was contrary to every scrap of her knowledge concerning astrophysics - not to mention, common sense. If the magnetic fields were, indeed, fluctuating, she thought the planet should, at the very least, be tectonically unstable. And nothing could have been further from the truth.

It might have been hotter than a Tatooine summer, wetter than a Mon Calamari monsoon, and barely large enough to qualify as a planet at all, but it was remarkably stable. At least, according to her instruments, which might - or might not - be reliable.

A metallic thud and a muffled oath involving a particularly repugnant Hutt image called her attention back to the escape pod which, thanks to the Force, and to the remarkable piloting skills of one unbelievably gifted Jedi padawan, sat near the top of a small cliff, upright and relatively intact. Rionne observed to herself that, if she had not seen it with her own eyes, she would have refused to believe that _anyone_ could have used the rudimentary flight instruments in the pod to accomplish anything more than avoiding extremely large obstacles - extremely large, as in moon-sized. But Anakin had not only managed to gain moderate control of the pod, thus avoiding a number of collisions that might have proven catastropic, but had even managed to set the pod down in an area not too distant, relatively speaking, from the place where his Master had ended his descent. 

His Master. His silent Master.

And if Obi-Wan's silence was worrisome for Anakin, it was almost paralyzing for Rionne. For Anakin's bond with his young Master, a typical training bond, though quite strong, was still in its formative stage. But the Chal-Si lifebond between Rionne and her mate was of a different nature; there were no developmental stages in such a link; it sprang into being full-grown - powerful, directional, and virtually unbreakable.

The silence in Rionne's mind was almost deafening.

"Ani?" she said softly, not wanting to distract him from his intricate task.

"Piece of Bothan sh - um, trash," he said disgustedly, slamming the recalcitrant comm panel with his fist. "Circuits are fried."

"No hope, huh?" she asked, trying not to allow her degree of concern to spill into her voice.

"Not a prayer, but I did get the directional beacon working. I just don't know how far it will carry. The power source is pretty pathetic."

She patted him on the back. "Very good, Padawan."

He turned to spear her with a fierce gaze. "Not good enough. If he's really hurt, we need to be able to contact somebody - fast."

She tried, without much success, to conceal the shudder that coursed through her body. "He'll be fine," she said firmly. "He's stronger than you and I put together, and Gragg will be able to help him, once we find him. Are you ready?"

He nodded and scrambled to extricate himself from the space beneath the communications unit.

Gragg Runoz was still trying to make sense of the readings on his bioscanner, as Rionne and Anakin joined him outside the pod. He responded to their questioning looks with a shake of his head. "Lots of lifeforms, from microscopic to bigger than we probably want to know about. But I can't get clear enough readings to determine any specific information. He's out there somewhere; I'm getting human lifesigns. But I can't tell where."

Absently, Rionne slapped at one of the millions of tiny insects that swarmed around them with every step. "You needn't worry about that," she answered. "I can find him."

"Are you sure?" the young healer asked skeptically, eyeing the read-outs again. "This place is swarming with life."

The Chal-Si knight exchanged glances with Anakin, and allowed herself a small smile. "Trust me," she replied softly. "I could find him on Coruscant, during Winter Festival, wearing a Force-suppression collar."

Gragg raised one eyebrow, and nodded. "That would be some pretty impressive finding," he admitted.

"Any idea of the range?" asked Anakin, not so impressed as Gragg. After all, he might not share a lifebond with his Master, but he was pretty sure he could find him on his own, if he had to.

Runoz took one last look at his scanner. "Probably no more than ten klicks. Beyond that, the signs would be more distorted."

Checking her equipment belt, Rionne ran her hand over the lightsaber that hung beside her own. His lightsaber, which he would never have forgotten, had he not been distracted by the newness of their bond.

Anakin noticed the gesture, and laid his hand on her arm. "He's going to be OK," he told her, as much for his own benefit as hers.

She sighed. "I know, but it's literally a jungle out there, and he's unconscious and unarmed. And Kammian no longer carries a saber, so there are probably no weapons among the three."

As they started shoving their way through the heavy undergrowth, Anakin was thoughtful. "You're feeling bad about the way you spoke to her. Aren't you?"

Rionne, already drenched from the heavy condensation pouring from the thick foliage, sighed. "She's just a child, Ani, a child who's been through a nightmare. And I let her get to me. I should be bigger than that."

His response caught her up short. "She's not what she seems," he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," he answered, "but, sometimes, when she's not paying attention, it's like there's something dark in her Force signature. I don't know what it means, but I know it's there."

Rionne found that she didn't like the implications of that at all. "Ani," she said softly, for his hearing only, "an observation like that could be very important. In the future, if you get such a sense, you need to tell someone about it. Okay?"

He shrugged. "Okay, but I don't think it's such a big deal."

She smiled. "You think that because it's not uncommon for you to have these feelings. But, for most Jedi, it would be totally foreign. Trust me; it could be important."

He looked back to see Gragg Runoz bringing up the rear, several meters behind them.

"In that case . . ." he said softly.

 

******************** ******************** ******************

Obi-Wan was afloat in some dark, dingy, malodorous current, being swept along in total confusion, noxious fumes of something indescribably abhorrent clogging his lungs. He coughed weakly, and tried to rise above whatever it was that was choking him, but he wasn't strong enough. Gasping, he fell back into the toxic wasteland that threatened to consume him.

 _Take my hand._ The voice was steady, reasonable, insistent. _All you have to do is take my hand._

The voice was also the voice of his nightmare - the voice of horrible, unbearable visions, the voice of dark promises, the voice of doom.

The voice of destiny? Now where had that thought come from? With a moue of disgust, he decided that he didn't want to know.

_Take my hand._

"No," he muttered. He would not - could not - accept the gift of his existence from a source of such evil. "I'd rather drown."

The voice dissolved in soft laughter, that was somehow more menacing for its softness.

"Obi-Wan. Please wake up, Obi-Wan. We need you."

Well, there was a new twist. Definitely not the voice of nightmare. Sweet; lyrical; warm; seductive. 

Seductive? Absolutely, which meant that the voice was a perfect match for the hot little hand that seemed to be exploring his body.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and shot up in one fluid motion, his hand automatically snaring the small one straying to places where it shouldn't have been.

"Kammian," he said, without even bothering to look at her, "behave yourself."

The Cirsean sat back and smiled, completely unabashed. "It's alive," she said over her shoulder to her companion who was hovering - there was no other word for it - above her.

"Thank the goddess," said Romy, her face creased with concern. "He said you'd be OK." 

"He, who?" Obi-Wan's eyes swept the area in front of the small hillock on which he lay, and spied no one and nothing, except the badly banged up remains of the escape pod. And judging by the pounding in his head, some of those bangs had occurred when his unsecured head had impacted a hull not quite as immovable as one would have believed.

Kammian frowned, and a look of confusion rose in her brandywine eyes. "Someone - there was someone . . ." She paused and looked up at Romy.

"She's right," agreed the Dromeylan sprite, as Obi-Wan thought of her. "There was someone, but I can't remember . . ."

The Cirsean girl shook her head slowly. "It doesn't matter."

The young knight turned to regard the girl with a frown. For a moment, he said nothing; indeed, he couldn't have said anything if his life had depended on it, for he was too busy forcing himself to release his anger into the Force. This was immediately necessary, for his only other alternative - and, in truth, the one he would much have preferred - was to grab the teen-ager and throttle her. As his rage settled to a slow burn, he imagined what a lovely shade of blue she would turn, just before expiring.

"Why," he said finally, "did you feel it was necessary to hit the emergency launch button?"

She giggled, and he steamed. "Is that what that was?"

It was a masterful demonstration of Jedi control that he did not slap her senseless. "Stop that!" he snapped. "Just because you're no longer a padawan is no reason to break into instant stupidity."

"O-o-o-h, you're adorable when you're angry," she replied, unperturbed.

He simply stared at her for a moment, until she flinched. It wasn't much of a flinch - just a flicker of an eyelid, really - but it allowed him to believe that there was still some remnant of her Jedi persona within her.

Obi-Wan rolled to his feet, or tried to, at least. And found that rolling up was not so easy a thing as rolling over. From the crown of his head to the lower part of his rib cage he was one, large mass of pain. And yet, much to his surprise, he found no evidence of broken bones. But that didn't feel quite right either. In fact, nothing felt quite right.

When he finally made it to his feet, he braced himself against a low branch until his head stopped spinning and his stomach stopped heaving.

"Kammian," he said softly, "can you access the Force?"

Her eyes widened. "I thought it was just me. I mean, I haven't been using it much lately, so I thought I was just - rusty. I mean, it's there, but it's not _really_ there, if you get my drift."

He nodded - and wished he hadn't. "Something's blocking it, but only partially. I can reach it, but I have no control."

He turned and looked toward the escape pod. "Did you retrieve the emergency supplies?"

Neither Kammian nor Romy replied, and he turned to study each of them in turn.

Romy had a large, spectacularly livid bruise on the side of her face, and he moved to her quickly, noting an alarming vacancy in her eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked gently as he turned her face to give him a better look at her wound.

"There's something I should tell you. Something I know I need to tell you. But I can't remember what it is." She sighed. "Isn't that stupid?"

She winced as he touched her face with gentle fingers. "Not stupid at all," he answered, "when you've got a concussion, which I think you do. Let's see if I can access the Force sufficiently to heal it."

"But you're still weak from the crash," she protested, to no avail as he closed his eyes and concentrated.

His connection was far less than perfect, but it seemed that it was enough, for the terrible bruising faded under his fingertips.

When he looked at her again, she seemed much improved, yet still that confusion clouded her eyes. "He . . ."

"He?" Obi-Wan prompted, a vague sense of alarm rising within him now. At first, he had dismissed their story of a stranger as delusion - or wishful thinking - but now he was beginning to wonder. For something else seemed not quite right; something beside the distortions in his connection to the Force; something within himself.

"He touched you," she breathed. Her eyes widened dramatically, as if at the grasping of a sudden memory. "He healed you."

Obi-Wan took a moment to try to center himself, and delved into his own consciousness. He found what he was seeking almost at once. 

Every Jedi, almost from infancy, was intimately familiar with his or her own Force signature - the unique pattern of Force energy formed by the bond between the individual Jedi's mind and the power of the Force itself. Each was unique; constantly evolving, but basically changeless. Yet now, Obi-Wan found that something _had_ changed, something in his connection to the Force. It was as if the basic link, which he had always known, was still there, but something new had been added. More than added; almost grafted. Something vague, but not quite formless.

The young Master tasted the bitterness of fear in his throat.

He looked around quickly, and forced himself to be calm. The shadows in the thick jungle-like growth around him were just shadows. Not, as his imagination suggested, vestiges of a darkness he sensed within himself.

"We have to get out of here," he said abruptly. "Wait here."

A quick survey of the interior of the escape pod led him to accept Romy's words with no further questioning. He had no doubt that the blood so generously splashed throughout the interior was his own, and that his injuries had been severe enough to be deemed life-threatening, prior to the intervention of the mysterious stranger. He also had no doubt that he had been healed by a Force user - a Dark Force user. The question now was, what, beyond the obvious effect of healing his wounds, had the use of the dark energy done to him?

Within the pod, he retrieved a cache of emergency supplies, including - Force bless Trex Longo - a brace of blasters, fully charged. Obi-Wan's eyes swept the jungle around them uneasily. He had a feeling they would need them. More than once, his hand strayed to his waistband, looking for what was not there. 

He took one moment to direct a rueful smile toward the memory of his Master. He had no doubt that Qui-Gon would have had a particularly pithy comment regarding a knight who was so busy concentrating on wielding his personal, biological saber, that he forgot about his mechanical one.

And that led him, naturally, to thoughts of Rionne. He had been aware of the sense of her since he first wakened, and he knew that she was all right. But their open bond seemed, for the moment, constricted. When he reached out for her, it was as if the connection was filtered; accessible, but blunted sufficiently to prevent them from speaking to each other directly. 

Secondary to that was his bond to his padawan, also intact, but tenuous.

Whatever was interfering with his access to the Force was affecting them all.

"Why can't we just wait here?" complained Kammian. "Traipsing around through the jungle is not going to be pleasant."

Obi-Wan was fashioning a pack out of a blanket and wire. "Because, young one, the emergency beacon on this pod is fried. There's no way for anyone to find us."

"And how do you know the other one is any different?" she demanded.

"I don't," he answered, "but it's a better chance than sitting here. Waiting to be eaten by whatever lives in this swamp."

"You're bluffing," she sneered.

He glanced down at the portable scanner. "The readings are erratic, to put it mildly. But there are some very large lifeforms out there, somewhere. Very large."

He gazed up into the massive trees towering above them. "In fact . . ." he said softly, then trailed off.

"What?" she asked harshly, suddenly not liking the look in his eyes.

"Wait here!" he ordered, then took a running start and leapt onto a broad branch, some three meters off the ground. Only after he landed safely did he realize that, if his access to the Force had failed him during the leap, he might very well have knocked his head off.

He looked around, and was pleased that he had guessed correctly.

"Come on up," he called to the two women standing beneath him.

Kammian sneered. "I don't climb trees," she said coldly.

He shrugged, and, with a wave of his hand, levitated Romy off the ground and brought her to his side. To her credit, her only reaction was a slight widening of her eyes, and it touched the young knight to realize how much she trusted him. "Suit yourself," he called down to the Cirsean. "I think it much more likely that we would encounter some of the local fauna on the ground than up here, and the tree limbs are easily broad enough to walk on. But, if you want to stay down there and greet the local residents personally, be my guest."

Obi-Wan heard the girl muttering under her breath, but he was content to remain blissfully unaware of the content of her diatribe, as she performed her own Force-enhanced leap and landed lightly at his side.

He adjusted the pack on his back and took a moment to once more assess the Cirsean's demeanor. Finally, realizing that he had little choice, he reached into the pack and retrieved a blaster, the twin of the one that was tucked into his waistband. "You know how to use this?" he asked. It was, more or less, a rhetorical question; she had, after all, been Jedi.

"Of course."

He put the blaster in her hands, and then, deftly, efficiently, he reached out and took her long, silky hair in his hands and twisted it up off her neck, tying it into a loop. "Not exactly the height of fashion," he remarked, "but it'll keep you from getting snagged."

"Thanks," she said, after a pregnant pause during which she simply looked into his eyes.

He nodded. "Now, let's move. As quickly and quietly as possible. And keep your eyes open. I don't know exactly what's wrong around here, but I know something is."

***************** ********************** *******************

From his vantage point, on an anti-grav disk hovering high in the foliage of the very same tree from which the group started their trek, Sidious had to make a conscious effort to avoid chuckling aloud.

_Oh, yes, my young Jedi, something is, indeed, very wrong. From your perspective. But, from mine, things couldn't be better._

He closed his eyes and let his senses sweep down and caress the object of his desire, and he shuddered uncontrollably.

He had almost succumbed to the urge to initiate the final stage of his plan when Kenobi had lain unconscious beneath his hands; the temptation for instant gratification of his desires had been almost irresistible.

And yet, he had found sufficient strength - by the narrowest of margins - to back away, one last time. For the next few hours might prove to be the difference between success and failure for this plan that had taken so much time and effort to put into effect. 

He thought back over the multitude of "coincidences" that he had worked so diligently to orchestrate over the past months; events that seemed unrelated, yet impacted directly on the one subject that piqued the Sith's interest: Obi-Wan Kenobi. In truth, he cared about little else now. Except, of course, for his thirst for power, which was the purpose that drove him to all else. But his hunger for the young knight would serve that purpose quite nicely.

He indulged himself with an in-depth exploration of Kenobi's consciousness; for the moment, the young knight's connection to the Force was sufficiently tenuous to allow such exploration without triggering any internal alarms. It was a particularly delicious exercise, as it allowed the Dark Lord access to the Jedi's most intimate memories.

Quickly enough, however, the Sith discovered that he didn't enjoy sifting those memories; he found his wish to strike down the female - this Jedi Rionne - almost overwhelming; he did not relish sharing his prize. Soon enough, he soothed himself. Soon enough, the young knight would hunger for no one except his dark Master.

Sidious smiled his hideous smile, and stretched out with the Force - the Dark Force that was unaffected by the distortion present in the Light - and stroked the Jedi's body with greedy, spirit fingers. Obi-Wan, immersed in the mental discipline that Jedi sometimes referred to as 'survival mode', did not notice.

The Dark Lord was content to wait - and watch.

**************** ***************** ********************

"He's awake," Rionne announced, allowing herself a thankful sigh. "I can't completely reach him, but he seems to be all right."

Anakin, in the process of hacking through a vine thicker than his leg, with a machete, merely grunted.

Rionne grinned, activated her lightsaber, and sliced through the offending obstruction as if it were a cobweb.

Anakin turned to look at her in disgust.

"You've got to learn to think like a Jedi, Padawan," she said gently. "Your muscles are no match for the Force."

"In that case," he replied, with a rueful smile, "why don't you take point?"

She chuckled. "I believe that's what I've been suggesting since we started."

He nodded and blushed. "It's just that . . "

"What, Ani?" she asked, sensing that something important was about to be said.

He refused to meet her eyes. "On Tatooine, I always went first, for everything."

"And why was that?"

He squared his shoulders. "Because slaves are expendable."

She took the time to kneel before him. "Do you think you're expendable now, Anakin?"

He made a curious motion which was both shrug and shudder.

"Do you think Obi-Wan thinks you're expendable?"

"No," he whispered.

Still, she sensed his insecurities, lingering just below the surface of his mind. Desperate as she was to reach Obi-Wan, she knew he would not thank her if she failed to address this question, right now.

"Anakin, Obi-Wan loves you very much. And he would lay down his own life to save yours. Without hesitation. Do you understand that?"

"I'm his padawan," he answered. "He'd think it was his duty to protect me."

"No," she said firmly. "This has nothing to do with duty. This is about feelings, Ani. Your Master's feelings for you. Do you believe that I know Obi-Wan as well as anyone could know him?"

Anakin managed to suppress the smirk that almost touched his lips. As he looked into her eyes, he realized something that he had only partially glimpsed before; the relationship between this woman and his Master was not something that should be the subject of nasty smirks among adolescents; it was, rather, something that transcended the physical world and the physical nature of their union. It was the communion of spirits. "Yes," he said finally, after realizing the truth of her words.

"Then know this, Anakin Skywalker," she continued. "Obi-Wan loves me, with all his heart and all his soul, with everything he is and everything he has. I know this beyond all doubt. He is my Enamiata; there is no corresponding word in basic, but it means - basically - the other half of my soul. There can never be untruths or misunderstandings between us, because we are one person in two bodies. Can you understand that?"

He nodded, his eyes growing larger as she went on.

"Then you will understand that I speak with complete, absolute certainty, when I tell you that Obi-Wan would die for you, would sacrifice everything for you, including his future with me. Not because it's his duty, but because he loves you that much. 

"So please, never again discount your own value - to him, to me, to anyone. Because, if you do, you devalue his devotion to you. Understand?"

Humbled, Anakin nodded again, and ducked his head so she wouldn't see the tears rising in his eyes.

She didn't see them, but she knew they were there, as she moved ahead of him.

"Master Rionne," called Gragg Runoz, from several paces behind them. There was an uneasy urgency in his voice.

"What is it?"

"There's something big, in the area. Can't tell just where. But it's not far, and it's moving around."

"How big?"

"Big," he answered, his eyes sweeping the dense undergrowth around them. "Maybe we should find a place to wait it out."

"Gragg," she replied, hacking through more of the thick vines, "how would we know when it was safe, and how do we hide from something we can't identify. And where?"

"Up, maybe," said Anakin.

"Up?" She stopped and gazed at him, eyebrows raised.

He jerked his thumbs up toward the heavy, broad branches that were thick and latticed above them.

She smiled. "And if it's a really big bird?"

He laughed. "Then we throw a saddle on it and fly it home."

When the three had successfully migrated to the labyrinth of tree branches, they found the going much easier, with the absence of the thick undergrowth, and with the presence of plenty of sturdy vines to use for support and bridging gaps, where necessary. As sunset approached, Rionne reached out through her Chal-Si bond and found that her Enamiata was much nearer than he had been earlier. 

Though they had seen nothing in the way of large wildlife, they were nevertheless aware that it existed in the thick jungle, and not too far away. Gragg's sensors confirmed it, and so did Anakin and Rionne's Force senses. But all remained vague and undefined. Rionne maintained her grip on her lightsaber and murmured silent entreaties to the Force to allow the two groups to meet before the waning of day.

She knew Anakin had skills far beyond those of most nine-year-old boys; she knew she could trust him with her back in a fight, if it came to that. But she also knew that no one would ever share a more complete bond than the one she shared with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and if she had to fight off predators, whether of the two-legged or multi-legged variety, she wanted no other but her Enamiata at her back.

Deliberately, she increased their pace, straining her eyes in the growing gloom, eager for the first glimpse of her mate.

******************* ******************* ***************

For his part, however, Obi-Wan, for the moment, was not moving at all. Instead, he was crouched in the fork of a tall tree, perched precipitously at the very edge of a deep, jagged ravine, that plunged straight down into the heart of the little planet, its bottom invisible in the growing darkness.

But, in the heart of the ravine, there was no actual darkness. All was aglow with fiery red light, as a river of molten ore poured through processing stations, hundreds of contorted figures touched by its sweltering reflection.

"Well, that explains much," he remarked, mostly to himself.

"What explains what?" demanded Kammian, not bothering to lower her voice.

Drily, he explained. "You might want to keep it down, Padawan. I doubt they welcome visitors."

"Why? It's just a mine."

"Oh, it's a mine, all right," he replied, backing away from the light. "But not just a mine. It's a balastrium mine."

Even Kammian knew that word. "Force suppressor," she said hollowly.

He nodded. "Illegal Force suppressor," he agreed. "And a mother lode, from the looks of it."

She shook her head. "But if that's balastrium, we shouldn't be able to access the Force at all."

"It's raw," he countered. "So its effects are erratic. Once it's refined, it'll be worth a fortune on the black market."

The Cirsean put her fingers to her temples. "Is that why my head feels like someone is beating a drum inside it?"

He nodded. "At this proximity, even raw ore is enough to screw up our Force senses entirely. We'll have to circle the pit, but we need to get out of here. Now!"

They moved quickly away from the lurid pulsing light and resumed their trek through the trees. They had moved only a few dozen meters when Kammian stopped, and went to her knees.

"What is it?" Obi-Wan hurried to her side. "Do you. . ."

He stopped, and went ash pale.

The blaster was in his hand, and he was moving at a Force-enhanced sprint before Romy had time to register that her companions had stopped.

"Take care of her," he shouted over his shoulder to Kammian. "Be Jedi for a little while longer. Bring her."

He didn't wait to see the girl nod, or to note the curious expression that touched her eyes as she exchanged glances with the Dromeylan.

"What happened?" asked Romy, in a near whisper, alarmed somewhat by the expression on Kammian's face, and the growing depth of shadow surrounding them.

"Rionne," replied the girl. "Something's got Rionne. Guess we didn't quite succeed in closing down that Master/padawan bond after all."

************** ********************* ***************

"There are too many," cried Gragg Runoz, his eyes wide, pupils dilated with fear.

He was jammed into an angle created by two enormous tree trunks, grown together over time. Anakin and Rionne were in front of him, lightsabers ignited. In Anakin's hands was the jade green blade of his Master - the very same blade that had once belonged to Obi-Wan's Master. 

Clustered some four meters away from the Jedi was a group of dark furred creatures, bipedal, tusked, horned, taloned, and fanged, the largest of which measured over three meters tall. In the growing dusk, it was impossible to distinguish just how many of the creatures there actually were, but Rionne was certain there were at least five - possibly as many as seven.

The beasts were snarling among themselves, possibly even communicating with each other - and the sheer number and size of huge, razor sharp teeth was proof positive that these were no peaceful herbivores, upset over simple trespass in their territory.

"They're afraid of the light," observed Anakin.

One of the beasts darted forward, then jumped back as Rionne swung her saber in a broad arc.

"That won't last long," she replied. "They look hungry."

Anakin drew a deep breath. "I didn't leave Tatooine to become dinner for some stinky, backwater gundark."

Despite the gravity of their situation, Rionne smiled. "Well said, Padawan. Gragg, do you have the blasters?"

He mumbled something inaudible.

"What?"

"I have one," he said, more loudly. "I lost the other."

She took a moment to divest herself of the urge to snap his head off. "Then one will have to do. See the big one at the back of the pack - the one with the white blaze over his eye?"

"Yes."

"I'm guessing that's the alpha male," she murmured. "If you could scare him off . . "

"I'm going to scare _him_?" Gragg said in patent disbelief.

"You're the one with the blaster," she replied logically.

"And he's the one with the teeth," he answered.

At that moment, the carnivorous conference came to an end, and the pack charged. Gragg discharged his blaster, but he was too late, and he fell back against the tree trunks, covered his head and waited for the end.

But he had failed to give sufficient credit to one skilled Jedi knight, and one determined padawan. Together, almost perfectly synchronized, Rionne and Anakin met the attackers with blades flying. High and low, over and under, inside and outside, their defensive skills complemented each other perfectly. 

When all had been dispatched except one hulking brute with ugly scars across its face, and the alpha male, Anakin darted forward to engage the scarred beast, leaving the alpha to Rionne. Which would probably not have proved much of a challenge, if Gragg Runoz had not decided, at the moment, that he should take a more active part in the battle. He discharged his blaster toward the alpha male at the exact instant that Rionne leapt forward, lightsaber extended. By dint of sheer luck, the bolt neither killed her nor took her arm off; it merely disarmed her, striking the hilt of her lightsaber and knocking it away from her grasp.

The alpha, though not exactly sentient, had enough instinctive knowledge to realize that the threat of his imminent demise had been negated, but that there was still another of the dreaded light weapons which could be turned on him at any moment. So, instead of sticking around to confront it, he behaved according to the limited logic of his primal brain; he grabbed the woman who was now helpless before him and scurried away. And since he was a creature born and bred to this jungle, and totally familiar with every aspect of it, his scurry was very fast indeed.

************* ********************* ****************

Obi-Wan felt the Force surge stronger within him as he ran, and knew that it would continue to strengthen as he drew further away from the balastarium mine. But he didn't know if it would grow strong enough to guide him to where he needed to be. For the moment, he was being guided by a combination of his connection with the Force, and the strength of his link to Rionne. He allowed himself no uncertainty, remembering the old adage (one Qui-Gon had sometimes questioned) that he who hesitates, is lost. It might not always have been true, but he knew that it was true now.

He would not - could not - lose Rionne. He had lost too much in his young life; he intended to lose no more.

Darkness descended rapidly, and he was running full out now, using the Force to guide his steps, trusting that it would not betray him. It never had before, and he could not afford to question it now. 

Suddenly, in the black void ahead of him, he spotted an emerald glow.

He knew that light.

"Ani," he shouted, never slowing.

"Master Obi-Wan?"

"Yes. Can you see her?"

"No. But I think I hear them."

"Wait there."

"But . . ."

"Wait. I'm almost there."

And then he was there, and he too could hear the sound of something passing through the jungle growth below them.

"Give me the saber," he said, "and then trace my path back to Kammian and Romy. Bring them back here, and take care of them until I come back."

"But Master . . ."

"No buts, Padawan. Do as I say?"

Without another word, Anakin tossed over the lightsaber, and caught the blaster that his Master flipped to him.

"You come back, OK?" said Ani.

But Obi-Wan was already gone.

He sprinted across the latticework of tree branches effortlessly, leaping gaps with Force-enhanced power, and the Force seemed to swell within him, singing through his veins. He reached out through the great natural presence to locate Rionne, and found her Force signature, bright and unmistakable, nearby. But their bond was silent, and he realized that she was probably unconscious.

Finally, in the growing certainty that the beast was aware of being followed, the Jedi forced himself to slow and approach with caution.

After traveling for some time through the trees, the jungle began to thin, and Obi-Wan dropped to the ground, his senses extended around him like a net.

He crept forward silently, careful to mask his Force signature, as the Jedi had long since realized that many animals were Force sensitive.

A dark aperture opened at his feet, almost hidden among a cluster of huge, fern-like plants. From within the darkness, warm and moist and somehow organic, a breath of primitive life essence seemed to emerge. Whatever dwelt within waited, wanting to be found.

*********** *********************** **************

 

The swampy section of the jungle was very old, very primeval, never explored or even touched by the creatures that occasionally ventured into other parts of the great jungle. Lifeforms in this dark, malodorous place had evolved over centuries, undisturbed, forever participating in the endless macabre dance of life and death, of predator and prey.

But the jungle was shrinking - had been shrinking for decades, as the depradations of the explorers slowly began to erode the biosphere. And some of the ancient lifeforms, which had evolved when food was plentiful and readily available, now found themselves without a steady supply of sustenance. 

In some cases, entire species had perished. In one case, only one of a once powerful species remained.

Only one. The last of her kind. 

A hundred years or so before, one of her last offspring had been butchered by the creatures that came in great ships from the sky. The creatures - of a species called Man - had given the species a name: trogolon.

The name had no meaning to the last of her kind.

But the scent that came to her this night, riding on the wind like a great gift from the gods of this ancient place, had every meaning. Man. The smell was a fever in her blood.

She was very old, and soon she too would be gone, and a noble species would live no more. But perhaps there was yet time for one small act of retribution, one small moment of vengeance.

From the dark waters that had cradled her for lo, these thousand years, she rose up and moved toward the source of that scent.

Around her, the jungle grew silent.

**************** ******************* ************

Obi-Wan eased into the darkness like a wraith, all physical life signs suppressed to bare minimum. Eyes closed, he used the Force to map his path, and to detect the lifeforms awaiting his arrival. Surprisingly, there was only the one adult creature, and the still unconscious form of Rionne.

Still hopeful of rescuing his wife without having to kill the creature, he crept forward. When he sensed that the beast was preparing to spring at him, he activated the lightsaber and held it before him. The beast recoiled, but then Obi-Wan saw that there would be no leaving this lair without destroying the creature, for this was its nest, and the nest was filled with hatchlings, voracious mouths demanding to be fed.

And the meal they were demanding was Obi-Wan's wife - and unborn child.

"Sorry, Friend," said Obi-Wan, genuinely remorseful.

The battle hardly qualified as a battle, at all. In the hands of a master swordsman, only a brief flurry of blows and one overhand swing of the saber was required.

He didn't wait to revive her to get her out, in the knowledge that, where there was one of these creatures, along with hatchlings, there might well be two; in fact, he hoped that there were, and that the other parent would return to the nest to provide for the offspring. But it was his own offspring that concerned him now.

With exquisite gentleness, he lifted his wife in his arms and made his way out of the lair.

The night air was sweet and warm as Rionne lolled against his shoulder. He lifted both of them into the trees, and settled himself against a broad trunk, her body still cradled in his arms, before he tried to wake her.

"Love," he said softly. "Wake up. Rionne, wake up, my Love."

"Ummmm." She stirred against him.

"If you don't wake up this minute," he murmured, "I'm going to die of loneliness."

Topaz eyes glinted in reflected starlight. "Can't have that, now can we?" she murmured.

His lips claimed hers, as tears brimmed in his eyes. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered.

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. "I'm always with you, Love. Didn't you know that?"

He smiled. "Only sometimes, more than others."

"My Enamiata," she breathed against his mouth.

"What?"

"It means you are half of my soul. The only one who will ever be part of my soul."

"Enamiata?" he echoed.

"Yes."

"I think I like that," he said.

"You should," she replied. "Chal-Si may, over a long lifetime, have many mates - many lovers - many spouses. But ever only one Enamiata."

She read the contentment aglow in his eyes. "If it's all the same to you, can we delay the many whatevers, for a while? Are you all right?" he asked. "Did it hurt you?"

She grinned. "Only my dignity." Her eyes narrowed. "And my good nature. When I get my hands on Gragg . . ."

He laughed. "Doesn't sound like the Jedi way."

"Yeah? Well, sometimes, the Jedi way sucks!"

"Speaking of whom," he said, obviously reluctant, but dutiful as always, "we better go check on the kiddies."

She grabbed him and pulled him to her fiercely, and dragged his mouth down to meet hers. The kiss was deep and grew deeper as she explored his mouth with her tongue, and invited him to do the same.

After a very long time, she pulled free. "Okay," she breathed, "we can go now."

"Easy for you to say," he croaked. "What was that for?"

Her smile was shaky. "That was thank you, for coming after me."

"Wow!" he said softly. "I can't wait until I do something really amazing."

She reached out and touched his face. "If we don't go now," she whispered, "we aren't going at all."

He huffed a sigh. "Okay. I'm up."

He wasn't, of course, but he was getting there.

A sudden wash of silvery reflection indicated the rise of a primary moon, and Rionne's breath caught in her throat. She looked at his profile against the feathery foliage behind him, and noted the shadows that sculpted his face.

A frisson of unease touched her heart. He was so beautiful - almost more brilliant than the light that seemed to pool around him.

For no reason that she could think of, Rionne was suddenly afraid, was seized with an urge to grab him and beg him to come with her now, to forget everything and everyone except the two of them, to abandon all except her and their child.

She didn't do it, of course; she was Jedi, and so was he. Jedi did not do such things.

But the urge was incredibly strong, and she resolved to keep him incredibly close. 

Darkness seemed to hover all around them.

******************* ******************** *************

 

Young Anakin Skywalker walked sentry, blaster in hand, and Master Rionne's lightsaber tucked into his belt. He knew he didn't really have the right to carry it, but it felt right to have it in his possession, and he didn't really think she would mind.

He had been thinking a lot about Rionne and the things she had said to him. When she returned - and he had no doubt that she would return; Obi-Wan had gone after her, after all, and Obi-Wan did not fail - he would tell her of his feelings. If Obi-Wan was, to all intents and purposes, his surrogate father, then she, by extrapolation, must be his surrogate mother.

An image of his real mother rose in his mind, and he was touched with great sadness. He had not yet spoken of his feelings for his mother to Obi-Wan, but he knew that he must do so, and soon. His Master would make everything right, somehow. This was not a speculation; this was a certainty. Obi-Wan would make everything right.

Except - except for those dark visions that sometimes came to the boy in his sleep. Dark visions of someone who looked like Obi-Wan, and sounded like Obi-Wan, and even moved like Obi-Wan - but wasn't. Because Obi-Wan's warmth and light and goodness could never be replaced with icy cold and darkness and evil. It would not happen.

It could not happen.

He glanced at the group huddled in the shadows behind him. Gragg Runoz - probably still upset from the tongue-lashing Anakin had given him, following his return from fetching Kammian and Romy - was sitting alone, staring off into the darkness. The two females, from what he could see, were leaning against each other, dozing.

The jungle was very quiet.

Quieter than it had been earlier.

Too quiet?

Anakin walked to the edge of the branch and looked down, moonlight glimmering against the foliage beneath him.

He walked to his left.

Had he walked to his right, he would have seen it. It might have made no difference, but who's to say?

A great head, shaped somewhat like an anvil, rose silently from beneath the tree. Multi-lenses eyes irised open, and blinked scarlet and black in the darkness.

Romy saw it first and screamed with such terror, that Anakin's heart hitched in his chest, as he turned to confront the monstrosity that menaced the two females.

He spared no thought for his own safety or strategy. After all, with a monster of this size, strategy was probably an exercise in futility anyway. With a roar surprising in its intensity from one so small, he tore forward, blaster firing and lightsaber igniting simultaneously, as a mouth with teeth that looked as long as his saber blade descended toward the motionless Cirsean and her hysterical companion.

"Kammian, move!" shouted Anakin. But the girl was beyond comprehension, and sat frozen, immovable as the great head dropped toward her.

"N-o-o-o-o!" screamed the padawan, launching himself.

The gleam of the lightsaber caught the beast's eye, sparing - for the moment, at least - the lives of the two females, as it spun about, surprisingly agile for something so massive, to meet the oncoming attack.

Romy dragged a still unresponsive Kammian to the relative safety of a sheltered open scar within one of the great trees, as the trogolon - with a movement that was almost casual - extended one huge talon and speared the oncoming attacker. Anakin went down, but he didn't stay down. Strangely, he thought, he felt very little pain.

He moved to meet the beast's attack. The last thing his Master had said to him was for him to take care of the others.

He would do it - now - or he would die in the attempt.

******************** ****************** **************

Obi-Wan felt the blow, all the way down to his spine.

"Anakin," he gasped, staggering against his companion.

"What is it?" she asked, reading the anguish in his eyes.

"Anakin," he repeated. "Something is attacking Anakin. I've got to. . ."

"Obi-Wan," she said sternly, "you're too far away. You can't . . ."

Gently but firmly, he disengaged her arm. "No choice, My Love. Hurry as best you can."

And he was gone. And she couldn't even see him, not even in the moonlight.

The unease that had gripped her earlier deepened. She had not examined the cause of her concern; she didn't think she wanted to know. But, like it or not, she thought she did know. Something was _growing_ within her husband; some power that she didn't understand. He was so full of light and goodness, she thought it must be his facility with the Force, but she had never heard of any Jedi in whom such power could grow. A Jedi's ability within the Force, according to dogma, was fixed; one might learn to handle it better, but the basic strength remained unchanged.

Or maybe not.

And the possibility terrified her.

She didn't know why.

She moved to follow him, but he was long gone, and not even her best Force enhancement had any chance of catching a glimpse of where he had gone.

************ ******************** ****************

 

He was very fast and he was very strong, and he was, after all, the Chosen One, or so some believed. For whatever reason, he had stood up under the attack of the great beast better and longer than anyone could possibly have predicted.

But he was also only nine years old and a novice with a lightsaber.

Anakin had given it everything he had.

But the moment had come. He had failed.

The lightsaber was gone, fallen into the darkness, irretrievable. The blaster was drained.

He stood before his executioner with admirable aplomb. He would die like a Jedi, not cowering in the dark like a scared child.

"If you move quietly," he said to his companions, cringing in their knothole, "it may not notice you. But don't wait too long."

The great beast seemed to be watching him for a long moment; almost as if it sensed that this was no ordinary Man standing so calmly before it. It could just wait until the poison took effect; the dose had been more than sufficient to bring down this small specimen, but, in the end, it decided its patience was exhausted.

Its head darted forward, mouth gaping, jagged teeth descending, when it was impaled by a swirling, emerald blade, emerging from nowhere to meet and deflect the attack.

Obi-Wan moved like an extension of the blade, rather than the blade as an extension of himself. He leapt to the head of the beast, ignoring the needle-tipped horns and the broken tusks, and fixed himself astride the thick, scaled neck. The lightsaber flashed, again and again, as the creature began a deadly, spinning dance, attempting to dislodge this interloper.

Anakin was too spellbound even to move out of the way as he watched his Master. It was Rionne, arriving several moments later, who propelled him to safety, before turning to watch the performance of her mate.

And it was a performance; there was no other word to describe it.

From Obi-Wan's perspective, he simply opened himself to the Force, more so than he ever had before, as he knew that only the power of the Force could defeat such a terrible enemy.

He was glowing. Rionne watched the play of his blade and the lithe movements of his body, and was amazed.

So were the other spectators. She turned to glance at them, and saw it reflected in all their faces. He was in the grip of the Force; of that there was no doubt. But such was the strength flowing through him that none of them had ever witnessed such a display before; nor would they ever do so again.

When it was done, the great beast - its eyes flashing scarlet in the moonlight - fell dead at the feet of the knight.

And Obi-Wan, after several silent moments, was gripped with a strange urge to mourn the passing of such a magnificent creature.

It was as he stood over the carcass, that a strange, hollow gurgling sound came to him, and new terror waxed within him. Obi-Wan turned, just in time to see his padawan collapse in Rionne's arms.

The young Master covered the distance between them in two long leaps.

"Padawan?"

"Sorry, Master," mumbled the boy.

"Are you kidding me?" Obi-Wan said gently. "What you did . . . I'm speechless, Padawan. Nobody else could have done what you did."

"Gragg?" Rionne watched the healer's face.

"Poison," he said softly, studying the readout on his scanner. "Massive dose."

Obi-Wan fixed the healer apprentice with a stern stare. "What can you do for him?"

"I don't know," Gragg admitted. "I've got some anti-toxins in the kit, but I don't know if it'll work against this. Without being able to analyze the toxin, I'll just be guessing."

"Then guess!" directed Obi-Wan. "Whatever it takes, you do. Understood?"

Gragg nodded. "I'll do my best, Master Obi-Wan, but . . . "

"I don't want to hear it," said the young Master. "You will save him."

"Obi," said Rionne softly, "he'll do everything possible. And I will also do my best. I have some healer training. Remember?"

Obi-Wan turned to look at Romy and Kammian, both of whom were standing quietly behind him. "The man you said healed me?" he said firmly.

"What man?" asked Rionne.

Romy shook her head. "We don't know, Obi-Wan. We discussed it. Neither one of us has more than a dim memory of it now. It's like it's fading all the time."

"We need to get him out of here," said Obi-Wan. "We need . . ."

And, for once - just once, he would later realize - Lady Luck decided to smile on the fortunes of Obi-Wan Kenobi. For, at that moment, the communicator on Rionne's belt beeped loudly.

For a split second, no one moved.

"Longo," Obi-Wan and Rionne spoke together. 

She activated the comm link, and it was debatable which of them was more relieved to hear the ex-pirate's voice.

"When can you get here?" Obi-Wan demanded. "We've got wounded."

"Nice to hear from you too," replied Longo. "Good news, bad news, though. I've got the ship pieced together, but I can't zero in on your signal. Sensors are all fried. The only place I can find you is at the pod that's sending the directional beacon. Are you near it?"

Obi-Wan grimaced as Rionne explained where the pod was located.

"Not yet," the Jedi finally replied. "But we will be. How long?"

"Roughly four hours. I'm still recharging the drive units."

"Any clue what happened out there?"

"Nothing definite, but I've got a couple of mighty interesting theories. Ever hear of an interdiction field?"

"No," Rionne and Obi-Wan chorused.

"Well, now you have, and you may have just lived through one, too. I'll explain it when I see you. Four hours?"

"We'll be there," replied Obi-Wan.

"Four hours?" Rionne looked at him askance. "You think we can get back there in four hours?"

He looked down at his padawan's ashen face. The boy was barely conscious now, and the potions that Gragg was pumping into him didn't seem to be helping much.

"We may not even have that long," said Gragg.

The young Master turned to his wife. "Can you take Romy?"

She shook her head. "No, Obi. You take Romy. I take Anakin. I'm the one with the healing power. Remember?"

"But. . ."

She leaned forward and kissed him gently. "No buts. You trust me to carry your child. Now trust me to carry your padawan. We _will_ save him, my Love."

Taking a deep breath, he nodded, then turned to face the rest of the group. "We travel light and fast," he said sternly, gaze fixed on Kammian. "You either keep up, or you get left behind. Clear?"

Both Kammian and Runoz, products of Jedi training, nodded.

Romy merely looked confused as Obi-Wan grabbed her hand. "Come on, my little friend," he said gently. "If you ever wanted to move like a Jedi, now's your chance."

It was a nightmare journey through the darkness. Jedi senses saved them from disaster, time after time, but nothing could save them from exhaustion, from the depradations of insects and heat and worry. 

Rionne spoke hardly at all, concentrating only on moving with Jedi-enhanced speed while simultaneously pouring healing energy into the flaccid body of her young charge. For his part, Anakin had slipped into unconsciousness from almost the very beginning. Which, thought Obi-Wan, given the speed and roughness of their movements, was probably a good thing.

Dawn was broaching above the distant mountains, and it had been almost four hours exactly as they approached the cliff on which the escape pod sat. It would take another hour to circumvent the cliff and take the long path up.

But Obi-Wan saw a different way.

The front face of the cliff was covered with a network of the ubiquitous vines that seemed to swarm over every available surface on the planet.

"What do you think?" he asked Rionne, gazing upward.

"They seem sturdy enough," she replied. "With a bit of caution."

He looked down at the face of his padawan, and hoped that the bluish cast he thought he saw around the boy's mouth was just his imagination. "I don't think we've got time for much caution," he replied.

Rionne started forward, gripped the lowest of the vines, then paused.

"What?" he asked, moving up beside her.

She leaned forward and kissed him thoroughly. "For luck," she said softly, then, with a deep breath, leapt upward and began to climb.

"Go," he told Kammian, then Gragg.

"Romy," he said softly, "I'll be right behind you. I'm not going to carry you here, so I can keep my hands free in case anybody needs help. But you'll be fine. OK?"

She merely nodded, and pulled herself up on the first vine.

Rionne was roughly half-way to the top of the cliff, when a great, beautiful shadow soared above them. The _Main Chanc_ had a whole new collection of dings, dents, and scars, and was listing at a slightly off-kilter angle, but Obi-Wan thought he had never seen anything so lovely in his life. There was no open space for the great ship to land, so it simply hovered, boarding ramp dropping.

Kammian was no more than two meters from the top of the cliff, when the world exploded around them.

Blaster fire - thick, concentrated, pinpoint accurate.

With an inarticulate cry, the girl slipped from the vine on which she was perched and started a tumble downwards. In her descent, she collided with both Gragg and Romy, and all three plummeted toward the bottom. Obi-Wan, desperately, reached out with the Force, and missed. Or was blocked. He wasn't sure which.

He raised his eyes and saw Rionne standing on the boarding ramp, Anakin still nestled in her arms.

 _I can't leave them, Love._ He knew she could hear him.

_I know._

_Take him to the Temple. They can save him._

_I won't leave you._

_You have to._ His response was firm. _If I lose him - or you - my life isn't worth living._

 _And if I lose you?_ He saw tears welling in her eyes.

He managed a brief smile. _You have the best part of me growing within you._

_Two days, Kenobi. I'll be right here in two days. Be here_

He just nodded.

_I love you - Enamiata._

_I love you - Wife._

And he pushed away from the face of the cliff and let himself fall. His last glimpse of her was the swirl of her robe as she spun to take his padawan to safety.

******************** ********************** ******************  
tbc


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22 - Dark Epiphany

To their credit, Kammian and Gragg had managed, between the two of them, to access the Force sufficiently to cushion Romy's landing at the base of the cliff, thus avoiding the near certainty of serious injury. Less to their credit, they had allowed themselves to be trapped in a tiny rock-lined cul-de-sac eroded into the face of the edifice and were completely pinned down by blaster fire, which seemed to be coming from almost every direction - except straight up.

As he landed and dropped into a roll, Obi-Wan automatically assessed the pros and cons of their situation; there weren't many pros. 

He slid into the cul-de-sac, feet first, and bounced to his feet.

Romy stared at him, open-mouthed. "You deliberately let yourself fall," she said, wonder in her eyes.

Absent-mindedly, he patted her on the head, never stopping to think that such a gesture might be considered patronizing by persons with a tendency to over-analyze or merely imagine offense where none was intended. Romy merely found it charming. "We all go together," he said softly, "or we don't go at all."

"Rionne and Anakin?" asked Gragg.

"Well away," said the young knight.

Kammian's smile was not - quite - a smirk. "Bet she hated that."

Obi-Wan decided not to take offense. "You have no idea." 

With raised eyebrows, he glanced pointedly at the blaster in her hands. 

Ruefully, she sighed. "Half a charge. Maybe. Not nearly enough."

"Gragg?"

"About the same. Six shots - tops."

Obi-Wan studied the terrain beyond their crowded little shelter. "We can't stay here," he said finally. "If they decide to charge, we'll never hold them off. And we're vulnerable from above, if they send someone up the cliff."

"Umm, Obi-Wan," said Gragg, "I don't mean to question your judgment or anything. But there's no cover for us out there. I mean, I know you're probably as good as it gets with that saber, but I don't think even you can deflect enough blaster bolts to get us out of here safely."

For a moment, Obi-Wan simply stared at him, until the young man dropped his gaze. "You let me worry about that," said the young knight finally. "But first, we have to figure out where to go."

A flurry of bolts impacted the cliff face above their little nest, and they were pounded with a deluge of rock and rubble. Obi-Wan threw himself over Kammian and Romy and took the impact on his back and shoulders.

"And fast," Obi-Wan said, coughing to clear his mouth and throat of dust and debris. "Many more barrages like that, and we'll either be buried or trapped."

"Into the jungle?" said Kammian.

"Get serious," said Gragg. "That's where they are."

"True," agreed Obi-Wan, "but since that's the only cover available, we're just going to have to take part of it away from them."

The young knight dropped to his belly and slithered forward, beneath a swag of the ubiquitous vines, and carefully scanned the jungle before him. "Try to draw their fire," he whispered to Gragg, who, for a moment, looked as if he were considering a reply along the lines of "Draw it yourself." But, in the end, he decided - and rightly so - that he would rather face random blaster bolts from unknown assailants than the very specific, accurately targeted wrath of a disgruntled Jedi knight. For Gragg had learned something about the Jedi, over the course of his training, that was universally understood within the knighthood - but almost never verbalized: releasing rage into the Force was the idealized, preferred method for dealing with it - but such action usually took place only after a formidable portion of that self-same anger had been vented on the cause of the problem - frequently reducing said cause to little more than a smoking ruin. And he didn't like the look in Kenobi's eyes, not one bit. Ergo, better a blaster bolt he had some hope of dodging than a Force zap that would catch him right between the eyes, with no possibility of reprieve.

He bounced up, revealing himself to their attackers for a split second. It was enough to spur the reaction Obi-Wan wanted. As the young healer crouched again behind a rocky protuberance, blaster fire converged where his head had been, from seven different spots within the jungle's perimeter. Seven well-chosen vantage points, but all beneath the canopy of the lower levels of the branches through which the Jedi party had traveled earlier. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and reached out with the Force, confirming what his eyes had told him; there was a gap in the enemy's coverage - not much of a gap - but enough. Maybe. He scooted back to rejoin his companions.

"Okay," he said quietly, confidently, allowing no doubts to color his voice. "There's a huge tree off to our right, with the trunk of another tree fallen against it. It's only about ten meters from us, and where they meet will give us cover from our friends out there. Not a lot of cover, but enough to let us get up into the canopy again."

"But how do we. . . ."

"You get behind me," he answered, "and when I tell you, we run. Romy, you stay between me and the others. Kammian, you and Gragg will open fire while we're running. Don't worry about hitting anything. You're just laying down cover until we get clear."

He took his lightsaber from his waistband, and prepared to open himself completely to the Force.

"You're bleeding," said Kammian, extending a surprisingly gentle hand to touch his temple.

He just shook his head. "Later," he said, as he closed his eyes. For a moment, he fell into a well of total silence. Then, the Force rushed to enclose him, as a woman races to embrace a long lost lover, returning from the dead. It caressed him, and warmed him, and poured into him, and filled him, and sang to him; it adored him and seduced him, and almost purred with contentment.

He opened his eyes and thought he saw Gragg Runoz recoil slightly.

"What?" he said quickly.

"Nothing," replied Gragg, but there were shadows in his eyes. When he turned to look at Kammian, he saw in her face that what he had seen had been more than his imagination. As Kenobi had centered himself, gathering the Force to him, there had been an almost visible, almost audible sensation of power erupting; a flash and a snap that lingered just below the level of physical sensation - but were no less real for being not quite detectable.

The healer and the Cirsean teen-ager exchanged troubled glances. Something was happening to the young knight - something beyond the experience of anyone present - including Kenobi, himself. 

"Ready?" asked Obi-Wan, his focus, sharp as a vibro-blade, blanketing them all.

Gragg said nothing, but thought to himself that it made absolutely no difference whether they were ready or not; Kenobi was ready, and they had no choice but to follow.

When he leapt from the cover of the cul-de-sac, and his charges fell in behind him, the emerald glow of his lightsaber wove a pattern of such complexity before them that it was almost like advancing behind a glowing green energy shield. Both Kammian and Gragg remembered to fire their blasters as they ran, but neither believed that their actions were particularly effective. Their potshots might have encouraged the attackers to keep their heads down, but it was Obi-Wan's blade - and the Force that drove it - that allowed them to reach the shelter of the massive trees without having a single bolt penetrate their defenses.

"Up," Obi-Wan barked. "Fast."

Kammian and Gragg managed on their own, and Obi-Wan lifted Romy with a wave of his hand, as he continued to deflect the occasional blaster bolt that came their way. Only when the others were all safely concealed among the thick foliage did he propel himself upward to join them.

At a spot where several of the giant trees grew together, almost as one, a cluster of massive branches had become interwoven over the years, forming a tight enclosure, which was further concealed by thick swags of dark moss. Kammian and Gragg hovered in the entrance to the dark opening as Romy knelt just inside.

"Stay here," directed Obi-Wan, in a voice barely more than a whisper. "We need more information about who and what we're up against, if we're to have any hope of getting away from them. Be absolutely silent, and I'll be back soon."

"And if you're not?" That was Kammian - sassy as always, but not without a certain assertive logic that he almost admired.

He drew a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. "If I'm not, then you try to survive until a ship comes for you. Two days. You're still Jedi, Kammi - at least, in part. You can do this. You may have to do this."

He rose and started to turn away.

"Obi-Wan?" she called after him.

He turned back, and surprised a strange look on her face - one that he could not quite identify. "Yes?"

"May the Force be with you."

"And you," he grinned.

She watched until he was out of sight, a rueful smile touching her lips. Her utterance of the traditional Jedi benediction had been entirely spontaneous - and entirely extraneous. He needed no one to enhance the Force energy around him; it was already so strong and concentrated that he practically glowed with it.

It had been rumored for weeks in the Temple that Anakin Skywalker had been identified as the physical embodiment of a very old Jedi legend - the Chosen One, they called him. But Kammian didn't believe it - not for a minute. For she had seen for herself what only very few other Jedi had been privileged to see. The Force was growing in Obi-Wan Kenobi - growing exponentially.

She didn't know if young Skywalker would eventually prove to be stronger than whatever it was his Master was becoming, but, if he did, she didn't think she wanted to be around to see it.

************** ****************** ****************

Shrouded by a thick interlocking web of Force energy, Obi-Wan moved with relative impunity, through the canopy of branches above the heads of their attackers. Though he had spotted only seven places from which blaster fire had come, he discovered that there were actually more than a dozen men in the party that was searching for them. So far, they had not turned their attentions to the tracery of tree limbs above them - but he knew it would only be a matter of time. Up until now, mild Force suggestions had been sufficient to focus their search elsewhere. But it would not last. There were simply too many of them, and his grasp of the Force, though steady for the moment, was still somewhat erratic, due to the proximity of the balastrium mine.

He sat in a bower of thick, wine-colored foliage, beneath a heavy drape of silvered moss, and peered down on three of their assailants.

"You want to be the one to tell him we lost them?" said the largest of the three, a swarthy Corellian by the look of him, with an intricate network of pale scars along his jawline, and hands the size of nerf hams. On his head, he wore a miner's hat, stamped with a stylized company logo - identical to the ones worn by his companions. Balastrium miners all - seasoned, strong, canny, and streetsmart. And dangerous, to a man.

"Take it easy, Malev," whined a second, tall, gaunt, white-haired, with a mouthful of rotting teeth. "I didn't say we lost them. We just - misplaced them, for a while."

The one called Malev stared at the whiner, with patent disgust. "How do you misplace a Jedi and his bunch of misfits, Bloubu?"

The third person, short, stocky, with hair like copper wire, regarded the large Corellian askance. "Are we sure he's a Jedi?"

Malev threw his hands up in disgust. "Did we not see the same thing? Did you ever see anybody use a lightsaber like that? I've seen other Jedi that couldn't move like that. Now, do you want to be the one to check it out, to see if he's really a Jedi. Don't be such a stupid fucker, Shravan. Of couse, he's a fucking Jedi, and good enough to put that fucking blade right through your black heart if you let him get close enough."

"OK, OK. Don't get all bent out of shape. What do we do now?"

Malev pursed his lips as his eyes scanned the jungle around him. "I hate this fucking place," he muttered. "Widen the search. Out . . ." He looked up suddenly, directly toward the spot in which Obi-Wan was crouching, and, though he saw nothing, his mind seemed to clear abruptly, "and up. Get up into the trees. Start where you last saw them."

Obi-Wan didn't wait to hear more. Moving at a Force-enhanced sprint, he was virtually invisible in the shadowy canopy of foliage, as he raced back toward the spot where his companions were waiting.

As he drew near, he saw two of the miners climb up into the branches. A wave of his hand distracted them momentarily, but he knew his time was running out. 

Luckily, Kammian had been watching for his return, and recognized their danger almost as soon as he did. He spared a split second to mourn the fact that she would not complete her training; she had the potential to have become a fine Jedi.

Obi-Wan swerved to his left as he saw the girl herd her two companions out of their enclosure, and break into a run toward him, Romy clinging to Gragg Runoz's back.

They almost made it - indeed, would have made it - except for one small factor; one thing which was shielded from Obi-Wan's awareness.

The Sith stood aside, in an inky pool of shadow, as the three companions bolted from their hiding place. They passed within two meters of his vantage point, and never saw him. But he saw, of course. Saw - and decided that he had had quite enough of depending on fools and incompetents to do his bidding.

With a wave of his hand, he sent the healer apprentice crashing to his knees, and the greenish creature clinging to his back, crashing through a gap in the interlaced branches to land - heavily - on the ground below.

Obi-Wan was there in the space of a heartbeat, emerald saber flashing - almost in time. But not quite.

His blade hovered, ready to strike, but stopped short.

"Come, come now, young Jedi," said a dark, oily voice. Obi-Wan felt his heart seize within him; for he knew that voice - only too well.

"I have no doubt," it continued, "that you can strike down every single one of these pathetic fools with your trusty blade, but not before our Mr. Malev here can pull the trigger and blow your little friend's head off."

And there was no arguing with incontrovertible fact. For Malev's blaster was pressed solidly against Romy's temple.

"And don't bother attempting the mind trick," said the voice, with just a hint of a dark smile. "I'm afraid I've already taken care of that."

"Who are you?" asked Obi-Wan finally, lowering his weapon. And though his inquiry was genuine, a tiny voice in the back of his mind kept insisting that he already knew the answer - if he could only grasp it.

For a moment, there was silence. "Soon enough, you'll know, young Jedi. But not quite yet. There are still certain things you must learn, before our final confrontation."

"You healed me," said the knight. It was not a question.

Sidious huffed a deep-drawn breath. "I did - and found it exhilarating."

The dark lord chuckled as Obi-Wan, with a minimal wave of his hand, tried to secrete his lightsaber in his pocket. "I'm afraid I can't allow that, young Master. Although it was skillfully done.

"Malev, you idiot," the voice was now sheathed in ice. "Disarm him and the others. Before he guts you like a womprat."

The big miner obeyed instantly, then looked up into the shadowy nook where his Master stood, still only an ebony silhouette among shades of gray. "Your instructions, Lord?"

"Take them to the sub-floor at the mine. And be cautious, Malev. Disarmed, he may be, but he is still Jedi, and far from helpless. Keep the little green thing at your side, with your blaster ready to fire. Only in this way have you any hope of controlling him."

Malev looked at Obi-Wan, and there was a wealth of insolence in his eyes.

Oddly, it was not the young Jedi, but the Sith who responded to the miner's wordless sneer. "Take care, Corellian. Else I may allow him to demonstrate just how 'helpless' an unarmed Jedi is - with you as practice target. And know this. Kill the others if you must, to control him, but do not - _do not_ \- touch him. Clear?"

It was immediately obvious that the big miner did not like these instructions, but it was equally obvious that he was sufficiently intimidated by his dark Master to do as he was bid. He looked up, possibly prepared to argue the point, but the dark Master was gone. Unfortunately, from Malev's point of view, there was no way of knowing how far he had gone or what he could still see.

By now, the entire complement of miners had gathered around them, and Obi-Wan saw little hope of breaking free. Oh, he knew, without a doubt that he could free himself; and Kammian might even be able to do the same. But Gragg had little actual field training, and Romy, of course, had none. He would not sacrifice the innocent to save himself.

Malev thrust Romy into the hands of the miner called Shraven, and gripped Kammian's arm himself. All while making sure he stayed out of arm's reach of the young Jedi knight. Runoz, he ignored, except for nodding for him to walk in front of Kenobi.

The miners formed up around them, blasters in hand.

They started forward through the heavy undergrowth, and Malev jerked Kammian against him. "Look what we got here," he said, with a leer. "I do believe this here is prime Cirsean meat, Bloubu."

His eyes raked the girl's body as his hand strayed toward her breast. "I hear once you've had a Cirsean, it ruins you for anything else. How about that, Jedi? She spread her legs for you yet, or are you too noble for that?"

He leaned forward and blew in her ear. "How about it, Sweetheart? I bet he didn't have enough for you, humm? Not like a real man."

With a glance at Obi-Wan that was almost an apology, the girl spat in the big miner's face. Her reward was a backhand blow that tossed her into the air like a rag doll. Obi-Wan caught her.

"Please," she whispered, as he clutched her to keep her from falling, "please don't let them hurt me again. Please."

Obi-Wan nodded, and turned to confront the miner. "Your orders, I believe, were to see that I'm not harmed. Correct?"

Malev nodded, wiping spittle from his face. "But he said nothing about that little bitch."

"But I'm saying it," said the young knight. "If you harm her, you'll have to go through me to do it. And I promise you, both of us are going to get hurt - extremely hurt."

"And if I kill the other one?"

"I can't choose between them," replied Obi-Wan. "If you harm either, you're going to have to kill me to stop me from killing you. I don't think your boss would like that very much."

Malev stared at the young knight, and the look in his eyes would have frightened any sane man. It even gave a certain Jedi pause. After making sure that his henchman still held a blaster at Romy's head, he stepped forward until he was mere inches away from Obi-Wan's face. "You win this round, Jedi," he said softly, pulling Kammian away from the knight and pushing her toward another miner. "But this is only the first round. Before this day is over, I promise you that you'll remember this, when you're begging me for your life. When the time comes, you're going to be willing to do anything I ask. And just to be sure we understand each other, let me make it clear. I've never been much attracted to boys; I like women. But, you know, you're almost pretty enough to be a girl, sweet little mouth and all. So, for you, I might be prepared to make an exception. So you just think about that. OK?"

Obi-Wan did the only thing he could do - the only thing guaranteed to take the wind out of the big miner's sails. He laughed. "You need to get yourself some fresh material," he said finally. "Believe me when I say that I've been threatened - and tortured - by the very best. You've not even in the same league."

A swelling snicker among the miners caused the Corellian to swing around to confront them. The rage in his eyes silenced them immediately, but the damage had already been done; the Jedi had ridiculed the mine boss with impunity, and these were men who had spent entire lifetimes lining up to follow the alpha male in any group. They always recognized him, and they always knew when he was supplanted by another. As they knew it now. Malev's days as leader of this particular pack were now numbered.

"No more talking," Malev growled, shoving Kammian forward, and jamming his blaster into her back. "Move."

Their progress through the jungle was slow, at best, and Romy, in particular, was hard put to keep moving. Finally, in the interest of efficiency, Obi-Wan was allowed to carry her, as Kammian replaced her as the prime hostage. The tiny Dromeylan, to the Jedi's amazement, fell asleep in his arms, her face pressed to his throat.

Just as sleep claimed her, she looked up at him and smiled. "I'd have stayed with you forever, if I could," she murmured. "I never wanted to go back."

Her arm tightened around his neck as she slipped into a light doze. Once more, he was humbled by her degree of trust in his abilities. For, in truth, he had no idea how he was going to get them out of this mess. But he found new resolve within him, as he shifted her weight to allow her head to rest more comfortably against him. He would find a way, because he must.

They came, finally, to the edge of the ravine which housed the balastrium mine, and Obi-Wan found himself wavering as the effects of the ore tore at the Force connection within his mind. A crumbling shack camouflaged the entrance to the mine proper, and the underground facility that served as warehouse, crew quarters, processing plant, and office complex.

Within the ramshackle building, a steep spiral staircase descended into near total darkness. The miners seemed unperturbed by the lack of light, which grew ever deeper as they descended. 

Obi-Wan tried to access the Force to guide his steps, but his connection grew ever more tenuous, and several times, he stumbled over uneven footing. From the mutters issuing from both Gragg and Kammian, he was assured that he wasn't alone in his discomfort.

After a very long descent, they exited the dark stairwell into a cavernous chamber, concrete-floored, damp and smelling of mold, ill-lit and lined, along both sides, with tall, narrow cages, fronted with crystalline bars. Obi-Wan had an extremely bad feeling about this place, but a quick glance confirmed that the ever-present blaster remained firmly pressed against Kammian's head, so he had no choice but to allow his captors to force him into the first of the cells.

Malev directed the placement of the other captives before turning to Kenobi with a satisfied grin. "Payback's a bitch, Boy," he said softly. "You ever hear that? Now, I can't do you any serious damage, it's true, but I think I'd be justified in taking any action necessary to prevent your escape. My 'boss', as you call him, would certainly understand that."

So saying, he spun the setting dial on his blaster down to ultra-narrow beam - about the width of a pencil - and proceeded to drill a hole through the young Jedi's thigh, thus inflicting excruciating pain, with no real, lasting damage; the wound was even cauterized as it was inflicted. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt like the very devil.

Obi-Wan went to his knees, but he made no sound.

Enraged at the Jedi's continued composure, Malev adjusted his aim and sent a beam through the muscles of Obi-Wan's upper arm. Distracted by the bright bloom of pure agony, Obi-Wan failed to notice the approach of another guard, until the Force inhibiting collar was snapped around his throat.

Immediately, his ability to suppress the torment in his arm and thigh was gone, and he fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Yet, still, he made no sound.

Malev stepped forward and gazed down on the young knight, rage flaming in his eyes. "Enjoy your silence while you can, Jedi. For I promise you, before this day ends, you'll beg for mercy. Maybe then, I'll allow you to try to please me. I think maybe you'd be good at that. And if you're good enough - if that sweet little mouth pleases me enough - maybe I'll keep you around, to use as I see fit."

Eyes closed tight, reaching for the Force that he could not touch, Obi-Wan muttered something.

"What was that, little Jedi?" said Malev, his grin widening as the thought occurred to him that maybe he had finally managed to frighten the little bastard. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Then by all means," said Obi-Wan, quietly, almost politely, "let me repeat it. Fuck - you!" Somehow, the elegance and culture of the deep core accent made the crude insult sound even worse. Even with his teeth clenched against the waves of pain racing through him, the young knight sounded as if he were addressing royalty at some diplomatic function.

And, again, there was that snicker. Untraceable. Floating around him. Testing his ability to suppress it and exercise the control granted to him by weaker beings. 

Malev tasted the bitterness of frustration. If he blasted the Jedi out of existence at this very moment, it would still be far too late.

There were, however, other outlets for his anger - outlets less capable of resistance.

"Bring me the Cirsean," he said with a grim smile. "Let's see if the hero can still protect her from inside a cage."

But Kammian was not quite as undefended as it might have seemed. As Malev's henchman went into her cell to drag her forward, Romy - from her position in the adjacent cage - reached through the bars and dragged the miner away from the girl, using the bars as leverage to exercise a chokehold. "Leave her alone," the Dromeylan shouted. "She's just a baby."

Malev's rage would be contained no longer; he had had quite enough insolence from these interlopers. "Forget the girl. Bring me the little green witch," he roared. Again he glanced toward Obi-Wan. "It's time we taught our guests a lesson."

Two miners raced into Romy's cell and pried her away from her captive, not without a certain amount of difficulty. Under less dire circumstances, Obi-Wan would have found the image of the bulky, muscle-bound miners struggling with one tiny, elfin sprite amusing. But he was far from amused now, as he watched Malev stalk to a nearby cabinet and draw something from its depths - something dark and lethal.

"No," said the knight, reaching for the Jedi compulsion that ordinarily would have come so easily to him. It eluded him now, but perhaps it wouldn't matter. For he was, after all, about to propose what Malev almost certainly wanted anyway. "These people are all under my command. If there's a lesson to be taught, teach me."

Malev hesitated. It was immediately obvious that he desperately wanted to accept the Jedi's suggestion, but it was equally obvious that his fear of his superior was greater than his thirst for revenge - not a lot greater - but greater nonetheless.

The big miner actually sighed. "Oh, Little Jedi, you don't know how much I'd like to humor you, but . . ."

"Noble to the last," said a voice from the darkness. "How perfectly predictable, Dear Jedi."

"My Lord," said Malev, "I was . . ."

"Yes," hissed the Sith, "I am perfectly aware of what you were doing, not to mention what you have already done."

"But . . "

"Bring him out," commanded Sidious.

"No," said Romy, tears streaming down her face. "Please don't."

The miner called Bloubu shoved her back into her cell. "Shoulda thought o' this before," he laughed.

Romy moved back to the front of the cell and stretched her hands out toward the dark Master. "Please, my Lord. The fault was mine. Please don't hurt him."

"Romy," Obi-Wan said sharply, "stop that. Don't beg."

Sidious regarded the Dromeylan as she crouched within the cell, silent now, but golden liquid eyes still bright with entreaty. "By all means," the Sith said softly, "let us allow our noble knight to protect his flock. And afterwards, perhaps, we'll make a sizeable contribution to his education."

Malev didn't wait for further encouragement. At his nod, two burly miners dragged Obi-Wan from his cell, and bound him, wrist and ankle, to two vertical duranium posts set into the concrete floor. The bindings were multiple strands of a duranium alloy - thread-thin, razor-sharp, and virtually unbreakable.

The same material had been used in the construction of the flail that Malev had taken from the cabinet, a malevolent device consisting of a dozen strands, roughly two meters long, and studded with wicked barbs along the entire length.

Malev uncoiled the strands while staring into Obi-Wan's eyes. The Jedi refused to flinch, no matter that his internal organs had turned to jelly. For Obi-Wan, in his years as a padawan, had earned a distinction that he devoutly hoped no one else would ever match; he was the acknowledged champion of torture survival - having endured more, suffered more, and survived more than any other apprentice or knight in the history of the Jedi. So it was safe to assume that he knew what was coming. He closed his eyes, and fought for composure. He would approach this horror, as he had approached all others - one moment at a time. And he would break or he would not, and there was very little he could do to determine which. For he had broken before, more than once. Enough at least to beg for death. Never enough, however, to betray those he was sworn to protect.

"Hold," said Sidious suddenly, as Malev freed the last of the coiled strands.

The Sith moved to stand directly behind the young knight. He did not - quite - touch the Jedi, but he took a deep breath, reveling in the male scent of his prize. "Show me, Jedi," he whispered. "Show me what it is to be a golden knight of the Order."

Obi-Wan squared his shoulders. "I have nothing to prove, to you, or anyone else."

The Sith reached out and touched the cauterized wound on the Jedi's upper arm, closed his eyes momentarily, and the scar disappeared under his touch. "There is nothing he can inflict on you that I cannot repair," he murmured, "but I confess to a certain hunger to explore the limits of your tolerance. There is no pleasure, without preliminary pain."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Care to debate that?"

Sidious - delighted - chuckled. "Later, perhaps."

He walked back into the shadows, and nodded to Malev. The big Corellian flicked the flail back and brought it down squarely across the Jedi's back. Instantly, a dozen channels ran scarlet with blood, bruised flesh separating under the cruel strands, muscles tearing, nerve endings exploding with agony. Obi-Wan made no sound, his focus centered on something far beyond this place, this moment. 

With three strokes, the cruel hooked barbs had torn and lacerated so deeply, that the white gleam of bone appeared within a field of flowing crimson.

Obi-Wan remained silent, eyes clenched tight. Within his consciousness, he was reaching out, hoping to attract a presence from long ago, the one that had steadied him through so many moments like these. But the Force was locked away from him, and so, therefore, was the balm of his Master's presence. If Qui-Gon was near, the young Jedi couldn't find him.

As the minutes ticked by and the young knight's back became a shredded mass of pulp and grist, Malev was forced to admit - though only to himself - that the kid might be as pretty as an Iegan angel, but he had bantha balls.

Obi-Wan was able to stay on his feet much longer than anyone could have anticipated. By the time he slumped, semi-conscious, allowing the razor wire around his wrists to slash through muscle and sinew all the way to the bone, the only sound within the vast chamber was the uncontrollable weeping of the little Dromeylan. Even the other guards - sadistic and cretinous as they undoubtedly were - had fallen silent, stunned by the Jedi's grim courage and determination.

Malev glanced back toward the shadows behind him and found no evidence of the presence of his Master.

With a tiny smile, the big miner wrapped the multiple strands of the flail around the woven handle and moved to stand directly in front of the young knight. Courage or not, it was time to let the boy know who was truly alpha male here.

He reached out and tipped Kenobi's head up, running his thumb along the line of the Jedi's jaw. Kenobi - only semi-conscious still - shuddered.

Malev leaned forward and whispered in Obi-Wan's ear. "It'd be a real shame to mark that face. Pretty as a girl. If you've learned your lesson, maybe you and I can have a good time together."

"Congratulations, Jedi," said a cold voice that seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. "You appear to have managed to seduce an inveterate womanizer."

Malev jumped back, as if stung. "Just checking to see if he was awake, my Lord."

Sidious moved out of the shadows, his hood not quite concealing the amber glow of his eyes - eyes like a great catling, deep in the jungle. "Of course you were," he said softly. "Now back away."

So intense was the Corellian's impulse to touch the young knight that, for a moment, it almost seemed that he would defy his Master's command, but, in the end, he chose - wisely - to obey.

Blood trickled from the corner of Obi-Wan's mouth as he struggled to regain his feet, as consciousness returned, and made him excruciatingly aware of the pain in his mangled wrists. Sidious moved forward and paused, face to face with his captive. Slowly he leaned forward and trailed cold fingers down the Jedi's bare chest, then back up to his face, where he used his thumb to just caress Obi-Wan's lower lip and brush away a new drop of blood. Then he continued his circuit of the Jedi's body, stopping finally at the torn and bleeding back and stepping forward abruptly. He used one arm to circle Obi-Wan's waist, offering some measure of support, thus easing the pressure on the mangled wrists. His free hand he passed, palm down, over the gaping wounds.

To the amazement of the Sith - and everyone else within the chamber, including - perhaps - himself, the young knight chuckled softly. "Please tell me all this isn't just because you're horny for my body, because if that's all it is, I'm going to be really disappointed."

Sidious smiled, pleased beyond all reason. He had long ago admitted to himself that developing an obsession for the young knight might not have been the wisest course of action he could have followed, but he grew more convinced with every passing day that, if he had to become obsessed with anyone, he had chosen exceptionally well. "We are not all so noble as you, young one, and you should not under-estimate your considerable charms."

"Can we just get to the point?"

"There are many points. But first things first, as they say."

Sidious raised one hand and, very casually, closed his fingers. Malev immediately dropped the flail which he had been fingering, and grabbed for his throat, simultaneously falling to his knees. The Dark Lord, without further movement, stared down at the writhing Corellian. "I told you not to touch him," said that cold voice. "That included not burning him with a blaster."

"Stop," said Obi-Wan, as Malev's face turned from pink to purple. "You're killing him."

"Yes," said Sidious. "I am. No one is ever going to be allowed to harm you, unless it's at my command."

Obi-Wan's breath caught suddenly in his throat, as recognition swept through him - both recognition of the lust that motivated the man in the cloak, and the identity of that man. And he wondered why the realization had been so long in coming. Palpatine. Of course. How obvious! How perfect! How absolutely Sith!

"You don't have to kill him," the knight insisted.

But Sidious was relentless. "Oh, but I do. I do not tolerate disobedience. That's a lesson you would do well to learn."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I don't work for you. At least, not any more."

The Sith dropped his hand, and Malev dropped to the floor, lifeless.

Sidious chuckled. "So you've figured it out. I wondered how long it would take you. The power of the Dark Side serves as a powerful camouflage, but only for a while."

"Can we get down to the heart of the matter?" asked the young Jedi. "I'm tired of silly games."

Sidious once more opened his hand and passed it over the mangled mass of Obi-Wan's torn back. The young knight could feel waves of warmth penetrating the carnage.

"No," he snapped, attempting to pull free, but managing only to damage his wrists further. "I don't want your help."

But Sidious was adamant, and continued with his task, ignoring the Jedi's objections. "Don't be silly," he said softly. "One would almost think you enjoyed pain." A dark smile touched his lips. "You don't, do you?"

Obi-Wan grimaced. "Take off the collar, and I can do it for myself."

But the Sith refused to be diverted. Not even with his considerable powers could he totally heal the torn tissues; a bacta bath would be required for that. And the Dark Force wasn't particularly strong in the healing arts. But it served well enough to still the constant firing of the nerve endings, and to sterilize the wounds, to prevent the onset of infection. And it infused the Jedi with a resurgence of strength, allowing him to stand unaided.

"I don't want your help," Obi-Wan repeated, through clenched teeth.

Sidious turned his attention to the mangled wrists. "Of course, you don't. You're afraid of the Dark."

"I'm not afraid of you," replied the Jedi. 

Sidious smiled again. "But you should be, Little One. For I have come to show you the truth. Only that - nothing more."

"I don't fear the truth."

The Dark Lord stepped close again as he pulled back the hood to expose a face that seemed transformed by the darkness within him. Gone was the paternal, jovial, avuncular visage that Palpatine presented to his adoring public. In its place was a powerful, cruel, predator's countenance, eyes aglow with dark purpose. "You should, young Kenobi. You should."

With a flick of his wrist, he severed the wires that bound the Jedi, and Obi-Wan barely managed to avoid falling to his knees. With another wave of his hand, the Sith snared a chair from across the room and brought it to a stop just behind the wounded knight.

"Sit," Palpatine said absently, and, when the Jedi defiantly remained standing, the Sith gave a sharp Force push that deposited Obi-Wan firmly in the chair and held him there.

"Please don't waste my time and your energies with petty displays of rebellion," he said, imminently reasonable. "There are far more important issues at stake here. If you are determined to defy me. . ." his smile was feral ". . . save your strength for something that matters."

Obi-Wan studied the Chancellor's face carefully, masking his scrutiny under drooping lashes. "Why the torture?"

Sidious returned the Jedi's stare. "Why do you think?"

"I don't know. It obviously wasn't really meant to 'teach me a lesson'. This feels more like a sales pitch."

The Sith was almost glowing with satisfaction. "Excellent. Excellent. You are really quite extraordinary."

"Umm, hmm. You want to answer my question?"

"Before one can recreate a man, one must first probe his defenses."

"But I still . . ."

"You were right, you know."

"Right about what?"

"Your friend."

Obi-Wan almost smiled. "I've got lots of friends."

"Your friend, Garen."

The almost smile vanished. "What do you know about Garen?"

The Sith's grin was ghastly. "He was innocent, completely."

"I know that."

"Yes," mused Sidious, "you did know it. But aren't you curious about how it was done?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Mind tricks, I suppose. She's very young."

"And the tape?"

"Rigged, somehow."

Sidious smiled. "You give me far too much credit, my boy. Besides, it was unnecessary."

The Jedi sighed. "All right. If it will make you happy, I'll bite. How did you do it?"

The Sith waved a hand, and two guards opened the cell door and escorted Kammian to a spot in front of the young knight.

"Leave her out of this," Obi-Wan warned, muscles tensing.

"Oh, be still," replied the Sith. "I have no intention of harming her. I simply want to show you something."

Obi-Wan huffed a sigh. "Go ahead."

"Do you know the best way to infiltrate an enemy, Kenobi? An enemy who has the power to look into minds and verify truths?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to enlighten me."

Sidious chuckled. "Indeed I am. The best way to plant an agent in the enemy camp, is to . . ." He waved a hand in front of Kammian's face, "give your spy new memories and a new identity, to replace the old."

Kammian blinked rapidly, then shook her head. Her eyes appeared clouded and unfocussed. For several moments, she stood, unsteady and wavering on her feet. Finally, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, a different person peered out of them. She stared at Obi-Wan, and then she smiled. And it was not the smile of a sixteen-year-old child.

"Kammian has been mine for a very long time," said Sidious. "She is a most industrious worker."

"And the tape?" said Obi-Wan slowly, something dark and monstrous swelling within him.

Sidious nodded to the girl, who took a moment to compose herself, before opening her mouth and repeating a single phrase. _"This is my gift to your Master, Sweetheart."_

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and braced himself against the pain rising within him. It was Garen's voice; he would have known it anywhere.

"Silly boy," said Kammian, when he recovered sufficiently to look up at her. "I'm Cirsean. I can mimic anybody. Rionne knows that, but she never made the connection."

"And the other evidence?" he asked, not really caring, but trying to fend off the overwhelming swell of anguish that threatened him.

Again the Sith gestured, and another figure was brought forth from the cells. It took less time for Gragg Runoz, who seemed to surface from his faux persona with great relish. His smile, once freed from his Jedi personality, was dazzling. "It was child's play to sensitize the test fluid to your friend's DNA. I had brought a sample with me from the Temple."

Obi-Wan felt the cold stab of dread within him. "And you were the one that made Mira sick." It was not a question.

"Of course," said Runoz. "I developed the virus right there in her own lab."

The young Jedi sat silent for minutes on end, his eyes haunted and dark. His move, when it came, surprised even Sidious. Had he been in possession of his Force abilities, the Sith had absolutely no doubt that both the healer and the Cirsean girl would have suffered permanent damage at his hands. As it was, it took three miners to pull him away from Runoz. The wounds on his back - that should have debilitated him - seemed to matter not at all.

"Why?" he cried finally, held motionless my many arms, braced against his strength. "Why did you do it?"

"Oh, my dear boy. I didn't do it," replied Sidious, earnestly. "You did. All of this was done for you. You could have prevented it, at any time."

"How?"

The Sith smiled as he approached and reached out to touch Obi-Wan's face, but the young knight jerked away from his hand.

"How indeed? I am almost ready to tell you that. But not quite. You still have more to learn."

"I grow weary of your 'lessons'," said the Jedi, with a heavy sigh.

"It's quite amazing, actually," said Sidious, "what can be done to a person's mind. What they can be convinced to believe. I can create a whole new past, for anyone. And, since they completely believe it themselves, the Jedi have no hope of detecting the falsehood. A little basic psychological programming to assure that they follow instructions as needed. Then reactivating their real memories is simplicity itself, merely a matter of triggering an automatic response."

"Are you telling me there are more of your 'agents' in place in the Temple?"

Sidious laughed softly. "I don't think I'm quite ready to tell you that. However, I do have one more little surprise for you."

He waved his hand, and Obi-Wan felt his heart break within him. Not a huge break; not a life-threatening, soul-destroying break; just a little crack - that would never quite heal. As Romy came forward, and underwent her transformation, a single tear welled in his eye.

"Oh, Romy," he breathed, "not you. Please, not you."

She moved toward him, and the winsome little sprite he had met on Ragoon 6 was nowhere to be found. This was a woman, wise in the ways of the world, cold, hard, and devoted to her dark Lord.

"But you were very good," she said quietly. "Almost good enough to make me change my allegiance. You surprised me, young Jedi."

"Why?" Obi-Wan asked. "Why did you do all this?"

"You will understand very soon," said Sidious. He dug in a pocket of his dark cape and brought forth a small vial, which he extended toward Obi-Wan. "Do you know what this is?"

But the young knight - devastation dark in his eyes - did not respond.

"This is the cure for your friend's illness."

Obi turned to stare at the vial, but he didn't reach for it. He tried to fathom why the Sith would show him this, only to jerk it away if he reached for it, but he realized, finally, that no logic he could access would explain what was happening around him. These beings seemed to inflict pain and suffering and heartbreak, simply because they could.

"And you're just going to give it to me. Right?"

"In point of fact, I am." Sidious seemed amused.

"No strings attached. Right?"

"Well, I didn't exactly say that."

Obi-Wan shot to his feet. "Enough!" His voice thundered in the vast chamber. "Enough! No more games and riddles and silly tricks. You want something; you've apparently gone to great lengths to get me here. Now tell me what you want, and what you're offering in return. Or kill me now, because I'm not going to play any more."

Sidious regarded the young knight thoughtfully. "Very well. Perhaps it is, indeed, time."

He moved forward and grasped the Force-inhibitor around Obi-Wan's throat. "Your word," he said softly, "as a Jedi, that, if I remove this collar, you will make no move to escape or to take action against any person here, until you have heard all that I have to say and seen all that I have to show you."

Obi-Wan grinned. "You don't . . ."

"I do," interrupted the Dark Lord. "I accept the fact that you would never break your word, no matter what. Now, will you give it?"

"Under the terms you've set," replied Obi-Wan, "I will."

The collar was gone, with a wave of the Sith's hand, and the Force rushed into the Jedi's consciousness, strong and bright and almost intoxicating. Sidious almost recoiled, before steadying himself.

"You don't know, do you?" he breathed.

"Know what?" asked the young knight.

"Never mind. It's immaterial to what I have to say to you."

"Why did you do that?"

The Sith paced for a moment. "Because you must be able to access the Force, to be able to see what you must see."

"Go on."

"Everything that has happened to you - since the death of Qui-Gon Jinn - has been orchestrated, to some degree. Your encounter with Romy, the accident at the Children's Museum, Kammian's little performance, the illness of your Bimar healer. All arranged by me. Arranged to show you how vulnerable you are - all of you. Arranged to show you that the Jedi are teetering on the brink of extinction. And arranged to show you just what those noble emotions you value so much - things like loyalty and honor and justice - are really worth. You offered up your life for these . . . " Sidious looked at the three beings who had served as his agents with distaste, "creatures, and look how you were repaid."

Obi-Wan's smile was grim. "And I suppose you have a better offer."

Sidious's stare was direct. "I do."

"Then stop stalling, and tell me."

"I will do better," said the Sith. "I will show you. And you must do only one thing. You must open your Force senses fully, so you will know if what you see is truth or fantasy. Will you agree to that?"

Suspiciously, Obi-Wan nodded. He didn't trust the dark Lord's motives, but he couldn't see any way that a simple agreement to use his Force senses to determine the validity of a vision could be turned against him.

"Very well. Close your eyes, young Kenobi. And see the future that your Master, in his infinite wisdom, has wrought."

Obi-Wan did not, in fact, close his eyes; he merely sat silently. But, in the end, it did not matter. He did not go to the vision; the vision came to him.

It lasted no more than an hour, but he would later think it was much longer. And it effected everyone within that great chamber - causing the others present to fall into deep, dreamless slumber. But neither Obi-Wan nor Sidious slept; they journeyed - separate, but connected. Sidious was no more than a bystander; but Obi-Wan's role was active.

Thus, he walked through the Jedi Temple as it collapsed around him. He pulled mangled young bodies from the creche and the nurseries. He cradled Mirilent Soljan as she died in agony in his arms. He watched as almost every member of the Jedi Council was cut down by a glowing red lightsaber. He saw Amidala and her handmaidens lying dead on a battlefield; saw the knights he had grown up with slaughtered like cattle; saw the heel of despotism descend and crush the Republic; saw the Jedi reduced to the dust of memory. And saw his wife and child, with Rionne pleading for the life of her son, skewered by that same lurid crimson weapon.

And, finally, he saw who it was who would do this. Saw Anakin - and what he would become - and why he would become. Saw the black machine that would bring about the death of all he held dear.

"My fault," he whispered. "My fault."

Sidious, after a moment, waved a hand, and the vision was gone.

For a while, all was silence. Finally, the dark Lord turned to observe Kenobi. "Do you accept that what I have shown you is truth?"

Obi-Wan could not speak. He merely nodded.

"Do you believe that it is inevitable?"

"No," said the knight, barely audible. "It can't be."

"Then you accept that there might be an alternative?"

Again, the Jedi nodded.

Sidious knelt at the Jedi's side. "You are the alternative," he said abruptly.

"Meaning?"

"The Jedi will fall. This I have foreseen; it is unavoidable."

"From your perspective, perhaps."

But Sidious merely shook his head. "When we have finished our little discussion, you will have time to meditate, and you will see for yourself."

"Even if you are correct," said Kenobi, "I don't see . . ."

"But you will. For there is another possible future. You are the key. And in this future, You will choose who lives and who dies. You will bring life or death. You, not that bastard child that Jinn foisted on you."

Obi-Wan almost laughed. "You expect me to become your . . what? Your enforcer?"

"I expect you to become my apprentice, to become the new Dark Lord of the Sith." 

And now, Obi-Wan did laugh. "You're mad," he said softly.

"Am I?" said Sidious. "Think about those images. There is but one way to avoid the truth of that vision. Only you can change it."

"By helping you to destroy the Jedi. You're not serious."

"By doing what must be done, to save those who truly matter to you. And by acknowledging that nothing you can do will save the Jedi. The Light is dying, my young apprentice; your strength will not save it. But it might save those most precious to you."

"Well, I'll give you one thing," replied the knight. "You're certainly creative, and I'm not your apprentice."

Sidious waved his hand, and a dark, hulking shape seemed to rise in the shadows, just beyond the reach of the dim light. And there was a sound of heavy breathing, as if through a huge ventilator. "There lies the future of your padawan," said the dark Lord. "Injuries inflicted by your hand, I might add. Is that what you want for him? What you promised your Master?"

"I won't allow that," said Obi-Wan firmly.

Sidious reached out quickly and grasped the Jedi's chin in cold fingers. "There are but two choices. Join me, or you will do this to him. And he will destroy everyone you care about, everyone you 'love'. You do 'love', don't you? Your precious Council hasn't yet managed to breed that out of you, have they?"

The young knight rose, and looked at the figures slumped around them, on the floor. "What would you know about love?" he asked.

"Go, now," commanded Sidious. "Through the door by the stairs, there is a room, prepared for you. You will meditate on what you've heard and seen. But time is short. Come morning, you must have reached a decision."

"I won't turn," said Obi-Wan. "You can kill me now, if you wish."

"Just go. See what the night brings."

"If I do what you wish, I betray everyone I've ever loved."

"Do you? If they live instead of dying, because of what you do, is that betrayal?"

"I won't turn."

Sidious' eyes were suddenly bright, as if with inspiration. "Is that your dedication to those you love speaking, or is it your pride? The great Jedi, who will not be turned. No matter what the cost to those he loves. Think about it."

"You wouldn't understand," said Obi-Wan. "You can't possibly understand what love means."

With a shake of his head, the young Jedi moved away and went into the room that had been prepared for him.

Sidious stood motionless. He had never known love - not really. Lust, of course, many times. Need, absolutely. But love? No. He did not love - could not love - would never love. He kept telling himself that as young Kenobi closed the door behind him.

**************** ***************** ****************

tbc


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: The Draigonslayer

Obi-Wan made it safely inside the room - door firmly closed behind him - before weakness and biological trauma drove him to his knees, but, at least, he remarked to himself, the surface beneath him provided unexpected much-needed comfort. After giving himself a moment to regain his center and to soothe the tendrils of rage and outrage that were spreading through his consciousness like a rampant weed, he forced himself to inspect his surroundings; a Jedi must always be aware of his environment. When he completed his circuit of the room - and the tiny fresher that opened from it - he smiled. Despite the gravity of his circumstances, he was forced to admit that he had never before been imprisoned quite so completely in the lap of luxury. While the Jedi Order did not live nearly as monastically as many believed, neither did it coddle its members with excessive creature comforts. And while individual Jedi knew little and cared less about money, it was because they seldom had need of any; the Temple provided for their needs. Anything more was just over-indulgence.

And this was, definitely, over-indulgence. It had taken several minutes for him to determine that the walls of the chamber were composed of thick metal, and that there were no other doors or windows of any kind; it had taken that long because, at first, he couldn't find the walls, concealed, as they were, behind layer after layer after layer of draped synth-silk.

There was no furniture in the room. There were only variations in floor level - from pits sunk into the plush carpeting to platforms suspended above it, all buried under mounds of silken pillows. 

The predominant color was a deep, earthy green, washed with soft, indirect lighting that seemed to come from everywhere - and nowhere - with occasional splashes of spiced cinnamon or dark amber. It was, overall, very soothing and restful. And sybaritic to a fault. Obi-Wan had no trouble imagining the chamber swarming with warm, nubile, scantily-clad bodies, and thick with the aromatic fumes of spice pipes. An effect that was almost certainly intentional.

Wearily, he allowed his battered body to sink onto a pillow-cluttered platform that he thought must be meant for sleeping. But it really didn't matter what it was meant for, for he was fairly confident that he was incapable of taking another step, even if pursued by a pack of malia.

He lay on his stomach, and allowed himself some small measure of appreciation for the tactile sensation of the silk fabric of the pillows against the fevered expanse of his bare skin. He could not simply lie here and let time slip by, time that he must use to prepare some sort of escape plan. For Sidious - quite unintentionally - had removed the only restraints which had kept the young Jedi confined. Without having to consider the fate of the 'hostages', Obi-Wan was free to do whatever was necessary to save himself. So he needed to get busy. He needed to evaluate his options. He needed to establish his priorities. He needed - he sighed - to sleep. His body was near the point of complete exhaustion.

So he would sleep; for one hour, he would sleep, after initiating a healing trance. It would not be enough, but it would be better than nothing.

He had barely managed to access the Force and channel healing energy into his body before reality eluded him, and he sank into the loving embrace of slumber, too long denied.

For a time, he rested quietly. Then, for a time longer, his sleep was reinforced by an external power, as Gragg Runoz - under the direct supervision of his dark Lord - administered healing bacta to the young Jedi's injuries, all done so quickly and discreetly that he slept on, undisturbed. This was due only in part to the Sith's Force intervention; for the rest, it was due to the fact that Kenobi's body had simply reached the point of shut-down, the point at which it refused to function further, without a chance to rejuvenate itself.

When the healer was finished, Sidious stood, for a moment, over the Jedi's sprawled form, and simply watched the young knight sleep. The urge to reach out and touch that smooth, flawless skin was almost beyond resisting, but he did resist. For the Sith, long jaded by the ease of his conquests and the immediate accessibility of gratification of his desires, had made an astonishing discovery; he no longer wanted that which was already his to command or to coerce; what he wanted from Kenobi, he wanted as a gift - freely given. He was almost overwhelmed by the strangeness of the sensation.

At last, he withdrew from the silk-shrouded chamber, pausing at the door to focus his energies and then, with a wave of his hand, call up the visions that the young knight must be forced to see, repeatedly, if necessary. He would not - could not - relent now, for he was in the full grip of his obsession. It would not be denied.

Obi-Wan shifted in his silken nest, turning to his back, the bacta-soaked bandages working their customary magic. He sighed softly, as his mind flexed, and took him into dreams. Familiar dreams; dreams he did not want to see again, but, of course, in the manner of dreams - especially nightmares - he had no real choice. But this time, the images he visited were much more vivid than in the past, much more detailed. He could actually smell the blood and carnage as he witnessed the slaughter of the Jedi; he actually saw the light of consciousness depart from the eyes of children that he pulled from the rubble in the bombed out Temple; he actually recoiled from the stench of rotting flesh on the battlefields of Corellia, and Dantooine and Bothawai and Naboo and a hundred other worlds; he actually witnessed the complete destruction of an entire world - he thought it was Alderaan, but it happened too quickly for him to be sure - and felt the death throes of its millions of inhabitants; and, finally, he saw the mutilated, twisted body of his padawan, forever imprisoned in the Darkness of the monster he would become.

Despite the fact that he seemed to be experiencing everything directly, the pace of the images was swift and jarring, allowing little time for any reaction other than the blanket of horror that encompassed all.

Except for one sequence of images - one event, in which the dreamscape slowed, and proceeded in what felt like real time. 

_He was on an upper level of the Temple, aiding in the attempted rescue of a group of padawans trapped in a blocked stairway, when a bolt of sheer panic gripped him - a warning from the Force that coincided with a raw shriek from the bond he shared with his wife. He was sprinting toward the source of the scream before it died away in his thoughts._

_But even as he ran - Force-enhanced and so quickly that he was no more than a blur - a voice whispered in his mind._ Too far. Too far. You'll never reach her in time. _He was aware that other Jedi trailed him, eager to offer their assistance, but he had no time to explain the urgency. They would follow or they would not; he could not wait to determine which._

_He had never run more swiftly, but the corridors were so long, and Rionne was eight floors down. And he realized suddenly that, even though he was sprinting through the halls and throwing himself down stairwells, he could see his wife and the figure that stood before her - see and hear, and know what was happening._

_Rionne stood tall, as befitting a great Jedi knight, and looked her assailant in the eye, ignoring the contingent of mercenaries that surrounded her, awaiting orders from their youthful commander. Anakin looked back, his face twisted in a smirk, and Rionne wondered why she had ever thought of him as a handsome young man; there was no beauty in him now. In her arms, she cradled two children - a boy of eight, who was a miniature version of his father and who, despite the obvious fear that prompted him to cling to his mother, was staring up at Anakin with belligerence gleaming in crystal blue eyes, and a tiny girl, three or four at most, with copper curls and topaz eyes, and a tiny little cleft chin._

_"Why, Anakin?" said Rionne, shielding the children with her own body as best she could._

_"Because Obi-Wan lied to me. He won't allow me to be what I'm meant to be, because he knows they can't control me."_

_"Is that what you think he wants to do - control you?" she asked._

_"Why else would he hold me back? Refuse to let me use my power?"_

_"Maybe," she said softly, "because he hoped to teach you that great power carries with it great responsibility."_

_He shook his head. "He was jealous. He never wanted me to be better than he is. He just wanted to take everything from me, and keep it for himself."_

_Rionne stared into the eyes of the young man to whom her husband had devoted so many years and read the horrible truth there. She would not survive this encounter, and neither would her children. His desire for power and his jealousy of the Master to whom honor and nobility came so easily had driven him to madness, and he had bonded himself to a Dark Master who would indulge his every impulse, no matter how depraved. He could not afford to suffer the survival of Obi-Wan Kenobi's children, for he knew, as she did, that their strength in the Force would one day rise to challenge his own._

_"That's not what this is all about, is it, Ani? This isn't because you think Obi-Wan is jealous of you. It's because you're jealous of him, just like you've always been jealous of him - from the very beginning. Your midi-chlorian count may be higher, but that doesn't matter. You may live for a thousand years, but you'll never be half the Jedi that he is. By comparison, you're just a pathetic little cretin."_

_"Silence," thundered Anakin. "If you wish to survive this day, you'll fall on your knees and beg me for your life and the lives of your worthless brats. Or perhaps . . . " His voice grew husky, "you can think of some other way to persuade me to spare you."_

_Rionne actually smiled. "You will hurt him today, Traitor, but not with my help." Very deliberately, she gathered her children close to her, turned her back to her executioner and crouched down, hugging them close. "Courage," she whispered, reaching out through the Force and bathing both in waves of warmth and love._

_When the scarlet blade impaled all three, in a series of vicious jabs, the two children were locked tight in the protection of their mother's thoughts, and felt almost nothing, passing from life to Light in the space of a single heartbeat._

_Rionne, however, survived for a time, and watched the smirk on Anakin's face falter somewhat as he reached out through the Force and recognized the identity of the individual racing toward him, only moments away now. Attempting to appear nonchalant, but managing only to betray his own fear, the Chosen One hurried to the balcony exit, where a shuttle hovered, awaiting his arrival, his minions trailing at his heels._

_He waited until Obi-Wan bolted around the corner and skidded to a stop as his eyes took in the carnage before him. He had already seen it, of course, in his mind's eye, but was still unprepared for the horror of it._

_"Farewell, Master," shouted Anakin, leaping to the shuttle's boarding ramp. "The Jedi are dead."_

_Obi-Wan barely even registered the youth's presence. He had no eyes for anything except his family._

_Inside him, his heart seized and froze, and he knew he would never be warm again._

_Rionne reached for him, and he knelt beside her, gathering her up in his arms, then reaching out and including the two tiny bodies in the circle of his grasp. Two tiny lifeless bodies - his son, Ben, named for Rionne's father, and his daughter, Ciara, named for his lifelong friend who had died in an early skirmish in the war with the Sith. Their tiny hands were swallowed in one of his. He was blinded by tears as he looked down into the face of the woman who was the keeper of his soul._

_"Enamiata," she whispered, "we will be waiting."_

_"Don't leave me," he begged. "Please hold on. I can't survive without you."_

_"You must survive," she answered, "or we have died for nothing. You're the hope, my Obi. You've always known that."_

_"I need you," he whispered._

_"And I'm here. I'll always be here. I will love you - forever."_

_He kissed her gently, and tasted the blood on her lips, as her spirit sighed once more, and she was gone._

_He sat in silence for a very long time, holding the bodies of his wife and his children close to his heart, rocking gently, and recognizing the last breath of hope._

Abruptly, he was awake, his body glistening with sweat. In his anguish, he never even noticed that his wounds had been attended. "No, I can't let this happen."

 _You are the only alternative; only you can change it. There is more - much more - if you wish to see it._ Obi-Wan wasn't sure if the voice was really in his mind, or if it was only memory.

He shook his head. "I have to let the Force guide me through this. There must be a way."

He allowed himself a small rueful smile. "Great, Kenobi. Now you're talking to yourself."

Finally, he knelt, and tried to remove himself from awareness of the physical, to ascend to a higher consciousness, but something kept nagging at him, preventing full concentration.

"Focus," he muttered to himself. "Focus."

He realized abruptly that his hands were clenched into fists, completely in keeping with the rest of his body, which seemed to be one big knotted muscle. "This is not helping," he said softly, forcing his hands deep into his pockets.

And closing one of them around the object he found there. Small. Oblong. Glass-smooth to the touch. And warm. Much warmer than any inanimate object should have been. With a grateful sigh, he closed his fingers around it and pulled it from his pocket. His river stone. A gift from his Master on his thirteenth birthday, it had absolutely no intrinsic value. Yet, somehow, he had come to consider it his most precious possession. Force sensitive, it pulsed faintly in his palm. He found that he actually had no memory of how it had come to be in his pocket, but he was infinitely thankful for the serendipitous circumstance.

Now, he knew, he would find his focus.

The first level of the meditative trance came easily, quickly, and the progression to deeper and deeper levels was smooth and effortless.

_And the visions came swiftly - dark, familiar, heart-rending. He saw again the horrors of the future, the horrors that would happen as a consequence of his failure to successfully train his padawan. This time he was not a participant; in fact, he watched himself walk through the years, through the increasingly difficult tasks of controlling an apprentice who grew more rebellious with each passing hour; across the blood-drenched battlefields of the Clone Wars; through the devastatingly destructive attack on the Temple; through the betrayal by Anakin and his massacre of the Jedi, including Obi-Wan's wife and children; through the blood and fury of the confrontation that would destroy the last traces of Anakin's humanity, and set a flame in his Master's soul that would never be quenched, that would consume him with guilt and remorse throughout his life; through the fall of Naboo and the slaughter of the innocents there. And then he saw what he had not been shown before: the frantic flight to evade the notice of the Dark Lord and to conceal from him the very existence of two tiny children; the long, empty, bitterly lonely years of solitude, spent in the deep desert, standing guard - in total silence; and the final culmination of his life, on the eve of the rebirth of the Jedi. In the end, he knew it was a vision of hope, but all he could see were the faces of the dead left by the wayside._

_Final victory, but at what cost?_

_There had to be another way._

_He stretched out with the Force and opened his mind._

_And there was the second path. Much the same in some ways, but oh, so different, in others. Death and destruction, it seemed, would be his lot in life, no matter which path he chose to walk. But different deaths - different destructions. Different failures. Anakin - whole and strong and striding into his rightful place in history. The fall of the Jedi and the destruction of the Temple; the Sith had spoken truly - it would happen, no matter what he did. But it would happen differently. Many would die, but many would survive, who had not survived before. The knighthood would be stricken severely, but would not be totally annihilated. Pockets of resistance would continue. The Jedi would endure; only_ he _would not. And ultimately . . ._

_Obi-Wan felt himself slump into a semi-stupor; felt himself impaled on the fulcrum of choice._

_How could he justify a decision? Either decision? He had been bred to the Light - knew nothing but the Light. Had dedicated his heart and soul to the Light. And yet - if he clung to what he knew to be morally right - he would be the instrument to bring death and destruction and horrible suffering to the Jedi. And he would arm the weapon that would massacre all the people he loved. More than that, he would create that weapon._

_His consciousness recoiled, as he was swept with such intense agony that he could not endure it. Desperate for solace - for some semblance of serenity - he moved away from the visions of the two diverging paths - and found himself, suddenly, wandering along beside a third. When he looked around and tried to trace its origin, he found that it was a divergence that had happened in the past - the very recent past._

_It required only moments for realization to strike; this was the path not taken - or, rather, the path abandoned - by his Master. The divergence had happened when Qui-Gon had elected to bring Anakin Skywalker to the Jedi Temple, for training. Obi-Wan sat and watched, as his life that would have been, unfurled before his weary eyes. He saw what others around him had been seeing for weeks - the swelling of the Force within him. Saw the life he would have had with Rionne and two bright, Force-blessed children; saw himself grow ever stronger and ever brighter; saw the defeat of the Sith and his legions, as the Chosen One succeeded in banishing darkness and restoring the strength of the Jedi, as well as the peace of the Republic. The Chosen One - Obi-Wan Kenobi. The Chosen One, who would now never awaken._

_Within his vision, he fell to his knees by that abandoned path, and wept bitter tears, mourning the loss of what might have been. And then, he was flooded, for a moment only, with a terrible, awe-filled rage, to understand the price he had paid for a choice made by someone else - someone to whom he had devoted his life._

Obi-Wan came to himself suddenly, and wondered, momentarily, where he was. Despite the silken luxury of his surroundings, he found himself chilled and clammy to the touch.

His labored breathing was almost a rasp in the silence, as haunted eyes were no more than pools of shadow in the soft lighting.

Through the chill that gripped him, he slowly became aware of a growing warmth. He closed his eyes, and, once more, sought to find his center, for he truly did not know if he could endure the moment that was at hand.

_Padawan._

He drew a deep, shaky breath. _Yes, Master._

_You know what you must do._

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and, for a moment, felt that he could throw himself into the depths of those midnight blue pools, and never again have to worry about making any choices at all.

_I wish I did, Master, but it isn't so simple._

_Yes, it is, Child. There is Light, and there is Darkness. And you may serve only one. You can't abandon what you have given your life to._

Hungry for a sound beyond his own ragged breath, the young Jedi spoke aloud. "And what if it has abandoned me?"

_It hasn't. You are infinitely loved by the Force, Padawan._

Obi-Wan clenched his eyes tight as he was assailed again by that vision of himself as the savior of the Jedi. "Not any more," he whispered.

_No. You're wrong._

"Can you see these visions, my Master?" One part of the young knight wanted his Master to understand the message of the images, while another part of him - the part that was the gentle nobility he had always embodied - wanted to protect the man who had been his whole life for so many years. If Qui-Gon could not see the whole picture - did not, himself, recognize the role he had played in changing destiny - then Obi-Wan would not be the one to tell him. It would serve no purpose, other than to force someone else to share his misery, and that he would not do.

The spirit of Qui-Gon Jinn studied the face of his apprentice and knew that there was some terrible truth here - some hideous agony that had pierced the soul of his padawan - but he could not see it. And, for perhaps the only time in the course of his existence, he made a decision to allow Obi-Wan's evasion to go unchallenged. For, in truth, he didn't think he wanted to know. More than that, he was fairly sure that he would not be able to endure the knowledge.

_No, Child. I still have no gift for prophecy. I see only your responses to what you see._

Obi-Wan nodded, continuing to speak aloud, loathe somehow to reach out through the Force. "I thought as much. The Temple will fall. Nothing, it appears, can prevent that. This is - it's the most amazing thing; I've never felt like this before. It's as if I stand at a crossroads of time and space, and I need only focus on each path, to see where it takes us. Everything is so clear, it's almost painful. I can't destroy the Sith, Master. No matter which path I choose, he will survive." His voice fell to a whisper, "and wait for everything I've seen to ccome to pass. Either way - the Jedi _will_ fall."

_There is no way you can be sure of that. The future remains always in motion._

"Do you remember telling me once that I was vulnerable, because, by loving too much, I gave hostages to fate?"

_Yes._

The young knight turned away from Qui- Gon and gazed down at the smooth stone still clutched in his hand. "I never understood what you meant." His sigh was softer than drawn breath. "Until now."

_Obi-Wan - you cannot give in to the Darkness. Whatever you think you see in the future, the Darkside will distort and destroy._

The young Jedi stood in a halo of light that seemed to pool around him from some concealed source. "They call me the draigonslayer. Did you know that?"

Qui-Gon smiled, not quite able to belie the tears brimming in his eyes. _Not the Sith killer?_

Obi-Wan nodded. "That too. But I've learned a bitter lesson, Master."

_And what is that, my Padawan?_

The young knight turned back to face his Master, his head high and unashamed. "Sometimes, in order to slay the draigon, you must become the draigon."

The spirit of Qui-Gon Jinn appeared to falter. _No, Padawan. Please, don't do this. You don't know what you're doing._

A sad smile touched the young Jedi's lips. "Yes, Master. I do know. If I renounce the Light, the Light renounces me. But it changes nothing."

Qui-Gon moved forward until his face hovered only inches from that of his apprentice. _You will destroy yourself. All will be lost._

Obi-Wan met his gaze squarely. "I'm curious about one thing, Master. In all the discussions about the 'chosen one', it was said - over and over - that he would bring balance. But the Light has been in the ascendancy for a thousand years. Doesn't it seem that bringing balance might require a resurgence of the Dark? Did anyone think of that?"

The Master's eyes appeared haunted. _I have no answer for you, Padawan. But I ask you again. Please don't do this. I don't think I can endure the consequences._

"You will endure what you must," whispered the young knight, eyes suspiciously bright, "as will I. I am, after all, just one man, insignificant in the loss of so many."

The tears spilled from midnight blue eyes. _Perhaps - but you are ever so much more than that to me._

Abruptly, Obi-Wan reached out and, with just two fingers, touched the barely-there image of his Master's temple, and let the images that must be shared form in his mind. "My last gift to you, my Master," he whispered. "You must use it wisely." Something hard and jagged glittered briefly in the young knight's eyes. "Consider it my 'thank you' for bringing Anakin to me."

And he saw it then; saw in those familiar eyes that Qui-Gon _did_ know - or, at the very least, did suspect that, with his decisions, he had set his Padawan on the path that he now felt compelled to follow. And Obi-Wan was swept with shame. Whatever the result of his action; however flawed his decision had proven to be; Qui-Gon had intended only the best, for both the boy and the padawan that he loved so well.

"Forgive me, Master," whispered the young knight. "I regret that what I must do will cause you such anguish. I hope you'll one day understand why I must do this."

_I can't condone this. You know that._

Obi-Wan nodded. "I do."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. _And I cannot . . ._ He couldn't continue, it seemed.

"I know."

Qui-Gon braced himself, then opened his eyes and stared at his apprentice - stared long and hard, as if committing those much-beloved features to memory, a memory to be treasured and grasped through all the lonely years of tomorrow. _I ask you once more - I beg you - don't do this, Padawan._

Obi-Wan shook his head. "You must go, Master. There won't be much time."

Hope died then - in both of them, and the pale glow that was the Master began to fade. _Remember this, Padawan mine._ It was barely audible. _Whatever you are - and whatever you may become - you are forever my beloved child. Until the end of time._

Obi-Wan felt a gentle kiss against his forehead.

"I love you, Master."

A brief caress by ghostly fingers, and he was alone.

For a while - he was never sure just how long - he merely knelt in the luxury of that silken bower and contemplated what he was about to do and what it would cost him. He did not cry; he dared not cry, lest he find it impossible to stop. He thought it probable that he would never cry again.

Finally, he summoned the Sith, with a thought.

Sidious was at the door instantly, and then standing before the Jedi. It amused Obi-Wan to postpone speaking for a time, while he wondered how long the Dark Lord could actually hold his breath.

The young knight smiled as he rose to confront the creature who would become his new Master. "I have certain - conditions," he said softly.

The Sith - surprised at such audacity, no doubt - shook his head. "Your surrender must be unconditional."

But Obi-Wan remained unperturbed. "Then we have no agreement."

"As I see it," said Sidious, obviously pleased with himself, "you really have no choice."

"There are always choices. You see only black or white, dark or light. I perceive more."

"And how do you propose to change the future, unless you agree to my terms?"

"Suppose," said Obi-Wan softly, "I decide that I do not wish to be part of such a future - either of them. What would that do to your little schemes?"

Sidious was silent.

Obi-Wan chuckled. "You don't know, do you? You can foresee everything, except what happens if I die."

"You won't be allowed to die."

The chuckle became an outright laugh as the young knight's eyes sparked with defiance. "Do you honestly believe, that - if I decide to die today - there is anything you can do to stop me?"

The Dark Lord drew a deep ragged breath. The boy meant it; that much was clear; and, in all truth, it was very probable that no one could stop him, if he made such a decision. For the Force within him was growing stronger by the minute; Sidious found it almost blinding. He would not - could not - risk the loss now of the prize he desired above all else.

"State your terms," he snapped.

The Jedi's smile was beautiful to behold. "I knew you could be reasonable."

****************** *************** ***************

Master Ramal Dyprio wrapped his cape tightly around him, as a brisk wind swirled and spluttered across the terrace of the Winery. There was a breath of ice on the wind - a taste of bitter winter, as drifts of dying leaves skittered in its path. It was very late, and the primary moon had long set, as the Jedi stood beneath the roof's overhang, and spent the minutes trying not to think about the meaning of this meeting.

The message had been both brief and cryptic. "For Kenobi's sake, be at the Winery at the rise of the Sanctuary Moon."

It had been delivered to the receptionist's desk by a street urchin, who had no idea where and with whom it had originated.

There had been only two additional words. "Come alone."

Dyprio had been sorely tempted to ignore that final caveat, and call out the cavalry. The fact that he ultimately didn't was not due to any compunction to obey the abrupt directive. He simply decided, finally, that it probably wouldn't do any good.

So he had opted to obey the letter of the message. He had come alone, and he had told no one of his appointment. That was the only way, he reasoned, that he could have hoped to travel here unaccompanied. For there were any number of Jedi - Rionne Aprelle at the top of the list - who would have refused to be left behind, had they known.

Kenobi had been missing for only four days now, but it felt longer. For the Jedi - to a man - sensed that something very big was happening. Something that would change their lives forever. Something that revolved around the missing knight.

Dyprio checked his chronometer and saw that second moonrise was only minutes away now. He moved into the sunroom area of the Winery - the tiny gallery where the painting of young Kenobi, done by his Master, was prominently displayed.

There was no sound, no sense of movement to announce the presence of the new arrival. Suddenly, he was simply there - a dark, cloaked figure, shrouded in shadow, tall, solid, somehow menacing.

"Where is Kenobi?" asked Dyprio, speaking softly, trying, without success, to penetrate the gloom that was wrapped around the stranger like a voluminous cape.

"Forever beyond your reach," came the answer, in a voice that was no more than a whisper.

"What does that mean?"

No face was visible within the folds of the hood, but Dyprio felt keen eyes on him, despite the fact that he still could not discern a physical presence in the Force; whatever else this individual might be, his mental and emotional shielding was stronger than any the Jedi had ever encountered. "That he is no longer your concern."

"Then this is a waste of time. If you refuse to talk . . ."

"I refuse nothing," came the response. "I am telling you the truth."

"But you won't explain your meaning."

"Surely, the meaning is clear. Kenobi . . ." Was there just the faintest hesitation in the use of the name? . . . "is gone."

Dyprio shook his head. "No. If he were dead, we'd have sensed it."

There was a faint huff of breath from the hood. "Your word - not mine."

"What do you want?" the Jedi asked finally. "This was, after all, your idea."

The dark stranger moved forward, but was careful to stay away from any patches of light from the now rising moon. A gloved hand reached out and deposited two items on the surface of a low table.

Dyprio leaned over and picked them up, and found a small glass vial, filled with pale amber liquid, and a smooth, striated stone. He turned to the dark figure, and allowed his uncertainty to shine in his eyes.

"The vial," said the stranger, still in that pale whisper, "is for the healer. The stone should be given to the little troll. Tell him it's for the boy. He will know."

Dyprio gazed down at the tiny objects. "He died for this. Didn't he?"

Although there was no stray beam of light to illuminate the face behind that hood, the Jedi got the distinct impression that the figure was smiling. "In actual point of fact, you might say he lived for it."

"I don't like riddles," Dyprio said. It was almost a snarl.

"Patience, Jedi," said the voice. "You'll know soon enough, and then, perhaps, you'll wish you didn't."

The cloaked figure turned to go.

"Is that all?" Dyprio called out. "No messages for those waiting for his return."

The figure paused, then reached beneath the dark cape and extracted a long, slender silver cylinder. There appeared to be a moment's hesitation; then the lightsaber came tumbling through the air, for Dyprio to catch.

"For Skywalker," said the voice.

Dyprio wondered if he would be able to speak when he opened his mouth, so great was the pain within him. "He wouldn't voluntarily give that up, for anybody."

"No," agreed the stranger, "he wouldn't."

"He's really gone, then."

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," said the voice, heavy with something not quite identifiable, "exists no more."

Abruptly, the dark figure turned to depart, but a stray beam of moonlight seemed to snag his attention as he moved toward the exit, a stray beam that fell on the portrait so lovingly crafted by Qui-Gon Jinn so long ago. With a gesture faster than the eye could see, a caped arm swept out and, somehow, distorted the image on the canvas, twisting light into shadow and hope into lost dreams.

And he was gone.

Ramal Dyprio sank to his knees before the disfigured portrait and stared out into the darkness. One way or another, he knew, the stranger had spoken truth.

Kenobi was forever beyond the reach of the Jedi.

*************** *************** **************

When it came, they were ill prepared, for, in truth, nothing could have prepared them. Oh, there was some little warning. From Ramal Dyprio. And from Master Yoda, who never revealed the source of his foreknowledge, but, of course, everybody knew that Yoda could sometimes just pull information out of thin air.

But in the days and weeks that followed, it became obvious that, no matter what his source might have been, he was determined to act on it.

But that was for later. For that first moment, there was only the endless, mind-splitting, heart-rending now. The moment when Obi-Wan Kenobi died.

For some Jedi, it was a pain that swelled within them until it seemed to consume them, before settling into an aching emptiness.

For some, it was a flame that burned white-hot, searing their senses, dragging them into darkness.

It was agony, but, for most, it was finite. As the death of every Jedi diminished the whole, it would leave its mark on each of them. But, for some, the marks would never fade.

Master Ramal Dyprio and his padawan, home on leave from a long assignment, were engaged in saber practice when the realization swept through the Temple, and the Master would later find cause to be grateful that he had the trauma of his padawan's mind to deal with; otherwise, he was not entirely sure that he would have survived the experience without permanent damage. Ciara had to be sedated in the frenzy of her grief, and she was not alone. Many of the padawans who had been close to the young knight were in similar straights, and many Masters sat vigil at the bedsides of apprentices driven to temporary madness by their anguish.

In the Temple gardens, Masters Yoda and Mace Windu endured the realization in silence, knowing that no amount of weeping or lamenting would change anything. They had made what few preparations were possible, and now faced carrying burdens of knowledge that would probably never be revealed to the rank and file of the order. For their messenger had conveyed information greater than the sum of its parts. Obi-Wan had said nothing of his revelation concerning the choice denied to him by his former Master, but Qui-Gon had been intimately familiar with that dynamic young mind for many years, and, in the end, the padawan had been unable to hide anything from his questing spirit.

The Chosen One, Obi-Wan Kenobi should have been, but now, never would be. Master Yoda stared into the shadows within the garden, and plumbed the depths of sorrow. He grieved for loss - for the loss of the brightest promise he had ever seen in a young knight; for the loss of the golden future he would have generated for the Jedi; for the loss of the Jedi Master, now one with the Force, who would never again know true peace or contentment; for the loss that would be most devastating of all - the loss of a soul-mate and father, for a woman who might not be able to withstand the severing of the bond - and a child who would never know what his father had been.

In the healers' wing, Mirilent Soljan sat in her office, her illness no more now than a bitter memory, thanks to the drug brought to her by Ramal Dyprio. But she hardly noticed, for the pains generated by her sickness were as nothing compared to the agony she endured now. Within her, there was only an aching emptiness in the place where the warmth of affection should have been. Her Obi-Nobi was gone; she had felt his going. Physically, she knew, she would recover; her body would be well again. Her spirit would not. 

She would continue with her life; love her husband and her children; minister to her patients. All would go on. But she would never make bad puns again, never feel her heart quicken at the sight of a flash of blue-green eyes or the glint of ginger hair in a shaft of sunlight, never allow anyone to get so close to her that she could not abide the loss. She designated a place within her to which she consigned all her memories and grief for Obi-Wan Kenobi, and she locked it away, where it would remain - untouched, unaccessed - for all time. It was a part of her youth, and she was young no longer, for the last vestige of it died with the child who had stolen her heart so long ago.

Anakin Skywalker tossed restlessly in the biobed, the monitoring equipment around him shrieking its constant, relentless warnings. The team of healers worked frantically, to counteract the effects of the abrupt severance of the Master-Padawan bond. It had been a risky gamble, this decision to sedate the boy, but, given the padawan's almost limitless ability to access and manipulate the Force, the healers had felt that, in his grief, he might have been driven to take extraordinary measures that no one - not even Master Yoda - would be able to counteract. And, as time went on, they grew more and more convinced that they had acted correctly, for, even under sedation, Anakin had managed to inflict a certain amount of damage on his surroundings and those who inhabited them.

Varqa Soljan, already in deep melancholy due to his wife's grieving, was now sporting a newly fractured arm, resulting from a Force tantrum in which the boy had sent various pieces of equipment - some of it quite cumbersome - flying through the air. And nothing could quite silence the plaintive, heartbreaking pleas that issued, periodically, from the boy's lips. "Please, Obi-Wan. Don't leave me. I need you. Please come back."

It went on for days.

Finally, when the medical staff began to be alarmed by the amount of sedative required to keep the padawan unconscious, Master Yoda was called in to lend a hand. The tiny elfin being climbed up on the side of Anakin's bed, and was silent for a while, simply watching and listening to the boy's ravings.

Varqa, for reasons of his own, finally banished everyone else from the room, then settled himself in a bedside chair and looked up into the wizened face.

"You believe he is the cause of all that has happened," said the mind healer softly.

"Ummm," Yoda agreed. "The focus, he is, but not liable, I think. He did not initiate the course of action that brought us to this place."

"To help him," Varqa pointed out, "you must clear all such thoughts from your mind. If it is even remotely suggested that he is the cause . . ."

"A fool, I am not," snapped the tiny Master. "Know this, I do. A few minutes, I require."

Varqa nodded, and turned away, fighting for his own composure. He did not know the full story of why this horrible thing had happened, and knew that he would probably never know. Yet, instinctively, he sensed that much of it revolved around the boy lying now in the medical bay, and he, too, was angry. Obi-Wan Kenobi had occupied a special place in the hearts of many Jedi, and Anakin Skywalker would have a very difficult road to walk, from this day forward - even if most of the members of the knighthood were never quite sure just what it was he had done to take Kenobi from them. The Order, as all knew but few acknowledged, had a very long memory.

They had warned Rionne, of course; she was at the greatest risk of all. But, since she was Chal-Si and the rituals and rites unique to her race were forbidden to outsiders, there was little more they could do to help her. She must find her way through alone, or not at all. Only Adi Gallia was allowed to participate in any way at all in her preparations, and even she simply did as she was bid by the lovely young knight, with no knowledge of what she was doing - or why.

At the given moment, Rionne was gripped by a sensation which, she thought later, must be akin to having a major organ ripped from the body, without benefit of anesthesia. One moment he was still with her - remote and silent as he had been for days, but still there, nevertheless; the next, he was gone, and the bond was mangled, and shredded and left bloody and torn. She screamed from the physical pain of it, but there was no way to express the psychic and emotional agony. The Chal-Si lifebond was thought to be unbreakable, by any means. She learned that night that it was not, but that the breaking very nearly destroyed the bonded individual. Her nerve endings were strobed with relentless flame as her mind spun off into dementia and surrealism.

Briefly - in the space of a nano-second - she thought she saw him. Thought she felt his fingers caress her face. Thought she tasted the breath of him. Thought he reached out to brush away the tears in her eyes. But she would never know if it was real, or the illusion of her induced madness.

Somehow - miraculously - she maintained the shielding that protected her unborn child. "You have the best part of me growing within you," he had said to her, just days before. She would not allow anything to harm that precious gift.

When, after hours - or days, perhaps; she wasn't really sure - the worst of it was past, and her sanity - bruised and battered but intact - returned to her, she knelt among the devastation of the room she had, in her frenzy, destroyed, and gazed at the dawn of a new day over Coruscant. _My Enamiata,_ she thought. _You are forever beyond my reach, but I know what the others have yet to learn. You are gone, but you are not dead. You only wish that you were._

She was right, of course, and, too soon, they would all know.

She would move forward, and do what she must to give life to the child that was all she had left. She would endure, because she must, and survive long enough - just - to see her son to manhood. And when the time came for her to fall in battle - as she would - most would believe she died of injuries received from blaster or sword or cannon. Only a few would know that the weapon might be the physical cause of death, but what killed her would be entirely different; what killed her would be the broken heart that, from this day forward, would never heal.

Obi-Wan Kenobi might exist no more, but he would forever be her Enamiata. She would have no other. She would love no other, ever again.

Cold fingers reached out to stroke a fragment of the cliavelle she had smashed in the agony of her grief. For the first time in her life, there was no melody within her. The songs were - forever - silent.

************* ****************** ***************

He never wore beige again. In truth, he never wore any color again, other than black, as befitting the heir to the Dark Lord. Eyes that once glowed with the warmth of tropical water in sunlight were no less beautiful, but shone instead with the luster of glacial ice. Sculpted lips that had been so quick to smile, smiled much less frequently, and never with joy or mirth; instead, his smile became a weapon and a threat, to strike terror into the hearts of those who failed to please him.

Yet, he never raised his voice - never needed to. His whispered word was as instantly obeyed as any shout would have been.

In a strange irony that some small part of him was still able to appreciate, he actually managed to achieve one small, incidental goal he had set for himself when he set up his terms for surrender. In a moment of sheer human weakness, he had hoped for some small measure of revenge against Sidious, and, as time went by, he allowed himself to savor his rare moments of dark delight.

The terms had been few and simple, but sufficient for his needs. He would pledge his complete fealty to the Dark Lord, and embrace the philosophy of the Sith with his entire being. In return, Sidious had to pledge only two things; that he would not interfere in the manner in which the young knight executed his campaign against the Jedi, and that he would never - never - violate the young knight's mind or body, unless specifically invited to do so. From the Sith's perspective, it was not a perfect arrangement, but Sidious assumed that time and his own persistance would eventually allow him to capture that which he most desired, and weaken the boy's resistance.

He was wrong.

As the Dark Lord aged, the malevolence within him began to effect his appearance; his flesh grew flaccid and malodorous, as his features degraded, and he became a hideous, cretinous caricature of the powerful figure he had once been. Yet, in some bizarre quirk of fate, the reverse was true of his young apprentice. As Sidious deteriorated, the younger Sith only grew more beautiful with time. He flourished and seemed to glow with a dark light. And, with every day that passed, the Master Sith fell more hopelessly in love with the apprentice, whom he dared not touch, for, in truth, the Dark Lord was no longer entirely sure which of them was the stronger.

Kenobi had given his word and had kept it scrupulously, but he had never stopped despising the monster who had made him into what he eventually became and generated the lessons required to train him to achieve his transformation. And, by the Force, had he learned them well! Including how to exact every small measure of retribution against the Master he hated so relentlessly.

No man who looked like the young Sith, and who wielded such mind-boggling power, would ever lack for female companionship. Though he never again allowed himself to feel love - for anyone - he was frequently the object of it (or, at least, some analog of it) and he was still a vigorously healthy young human, generously endowed with both the necessary physical accouterments and a powerful libido. So it was that the only time he ever lowered his mental shields and allowed Sidious access to his mind, was at those specific moments when he achieved physical ecstasy in the arms of his latest lover. It was a particularly nasty, imminently satisfying form of revenge. It made him smile. 

He never failed to live up to the bargain he had made. When the Jedi Temple fell, it fell under his hand, and many died at his feet. When rebel armies rose to attempt to overthrow the Empire, his was the brilliant strategy that repelled their attacks. When uprisings occurred under the brutal heel of Palpatine's rule, he inspired imperial troops to grind the insurgents into dust. If he found Sidious to be repugnant in the extreme - and he did - he nevertheless defended the Sith against all enemies, as he had sworn to do.

For thirty years, he was exactly what the Emperor needed him to be. He never bothered to disguise his disdain for his Sith Master, but he never directly disobeyed his orders either, except in a few small ways. In his most blatant act of defiance, he flatly refused to father a child. Palpatine had tried every tactic he could think of to change his mind, to no avail. The younger Sith was adamant.

In payment for the pledge he had extracted from the Sith, he never wavered in his obligation. Virtually all of the civilized galaxy fell finally under the control of the Empire, and, as he was, without doubt, the crown prince to the Emperor's throne, little was denied him. He thus had no trouble in seeing that his every wish was obeyed.

Thus, in the vastness of the galaxy and the exercise of such limitless power, it was hardly remarkable that some small, remote planets might escape the notice of the Empire, and, in a few such places, it was almost as if the Empire did not exist. As a result of such minor oversights, on Naboo, a beautiful young queen matured, as her planet existed in untroubled, if somewhat solitary, serenity. At the proper time, the young woman wed a dashing young man who, some whispered, had once been a member of the Jedi knighthood, but the story was only a rumor, hardly worthy of investigation by imperial forces.

Meanwhile, on another remote planet - the desert planet of Tatooine - there were myths and legends and tall stories about an enclave of ascetics, concealed somewhere in the depths of the Jungland wastes, but everyone dismissed such rumors as the imagination of spice-warped minds. It was even said by some - delusional no doubt - that, within that colony, lived a woman of exceptional beauty, with tawny golden skin and a drift of flame-colored hair, whose throat bore three tiny faceted jewels; a woman who gave birth, out in that wilderness, to a baby boy - a child whose beauty surpassed even that of his mother, a child with laughing blue-green eyes, a child of uncommon grace, who seemed to glow with some kind of spiritual energy; a child who learned remarkable skills at the knee of a short, grumpy green troll, aided by a tall, blue-eyed human who, for some unknown reason, wore a long braid dangling over his right ear, in contrast to the skimpy cut of the rest of his hair.

As time went by, Kenobi became ever more immersed in the love of power that was the Dark side. Even if Palpatine had - for some unfathomable reason - released him from his vows, he knew that he could not have gone back to the person he had once been. Yet there were traits that remained - traits that served him well throughout his life. Palpatine and his military advisors ruled the Empire and the men under their commands with iron fists and brutal discipline; for Kenobi, such drastic measures were never necessary. For he never forgot an honest effort made or forgave an act of treachery. The men under his command learned early that his loyalty - once earned - was never rescinded, and they responded accordingly. The rest of the imperial forces were driven by greed, or fear, or ignorance; the men who served under Kenobi, to a man, were driven by loyalty and a thirst for his approval. They became the most feared and fearsome force in all the Imperium, and other commanders chafed with envy and simmering anger. None, of course, dared to oppose him, for he learned quickly, how to kill with just a gesture, and was not loathe to do so. In every real sense, Obi-Wan Kenobi existed no more. He was the Dark Lord of the Sith. Darth Trigant - heir to the Empire.

And yet . . .

And yet - inside -- deep, deep inside, beneath the level of his conscious mind, there lingered one tiny little sliver of the man he had once been. It was this miniscule remnant, undoubtedly, who made certain that the pledges made by the Sith were kept; this remnant who had spotted Anakin Skywalker once, in a crowd outside the imperial palace and read - correctly - the bitter hatred in cold, blue eyes, and deliberately _not_ summoned guards to apprehend him; this remnant, who, on that same day, had turned just as he reached the doorway of the Palace, and looked back into the crowd and picked out, among the hordes, one face, only partially concealed by a dark hood - a face graced with topaz eyes and enhanced with a spray of tiny jewels sparkling along a graceful jawline - and had gazed for one second into those brilliant eyes and packed a lifetime of longing into one, single moment. It was also this same tiny remnant that wrapped itself firmly around the last Jedi vision he had ever allowed himself; the very same vision he had entrusted to his Master on that final, fateful day, for safe transport to the Jedi Temple; the very same vision which he had carefully and eternally concealed from the Master he was now sworn to protect; the one in which he had seen a young man with glowing blue-green eyes and ginger-colored hair, join forces with a younger man and woman - the boy looked a great deal like a teen-aged Anakin Skywalker - and together, rise up and send the Sith and its embodiment of evil to its final doom, falling into a darkness from which it would never return. 

It would be the ultimate moment of retribution - the final triumph of good over evil - of Light over Dark.

He did not fool himself. He, too, would be destroyed. The sweet taste of victory would never touch his lips. There would be no opportunity for forgiveness for him. He had known that from the beginning.

There would be only death. He had rejected the Force, and it would see justice done in the end. Sometimes, he wondered if it still grieved for him, but he knew he would never know the answer.

He would never see Qui-Gon again, as he had known he wouldn't; never see love in the eyes of anyone who mattered to him; never touch the hand of his son; never know if anyone would ever understand why he had done what he had done.

But he would sleep.

He would sleep forever - without pain, without memory, without longing, without the bitter ache of loneliness and despair that had filled his heart for the remainder of his life.

Occasionally, in the depths of solitude, he allowed himself to contemplate that dark serenity, and somewhere, buried deep beneath a bruised and wounded spirit, blue-green eyes - like tropical water in sunlight - smiled.

**************** *************** **************

tbc


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is not a new one. It was completed quite some time ago, and I will tell you now that - at the beginning - it was not intended to end like this. But I have long been a believer that a writer tells the story as it comes to her. It happens as it is meant to happen.
> 
> But there is a question that always seems to arise among many of my readers, and it is a question that I leave to the readers to decide. Thus: Obi-Wan Kenobi - the Jedi's ultimate traitor? Or their greatest hero?
> 
> The answer depends entirely on one's perspective, n'est pas?

EPILOG: Gone to Ashes

In the long march of years following the rebirth of the Jedi and the fall of the Empire, the desert retreat on Tatooine, once incalculably valuable because of its very remoteness, was, for the exact same reason, allowed to fall into disrepair, until, finally, it was nothing more than a forgotten ruin. In the manner of all civilizations, as years became decades and decades became centuries, history lost track of events and names, and fact was gradually distorted into legend, and finally into myth, until the only memory of what happened in those storied days lay in the collective consciousness of those who actually lived through it before joining the Force. 

Thus the story remains untold. 

The vision that had been sent to the Jedi - to allow them to prepare for the tragedies to come - was shared only between the two senior members of the Jedi Council and, reluctantly, the mother of Obi-Wan Kenobi's child. No one else was ever told of the sacrifice the young Jedi had made, in the fear that such knowledge might cloud the collective judgment of those who knew the whole story and prevent the new generation of Jedi knights from doing what they must in order to defeat the Empire.

Rionne Aprelle understood and approved the reasoning and never uttered a single word of protest. She simply endured, but it was one more silent burden she was forced to bear, on a frame already too heavy laden. Thus, until the time of his death and becoming one with the Force, young Ben Kenobi never knew what his father had done, or why. On that fateful day, he was welcomed and comforted and made aware of the truth by a tall, soft-spoken Master with tragic blue eyes, but there was ultimately no genuine comfort to be had, for either of them.

Deep within the core of the desert hide-away, where a winsome child with sea-change eyes, reminiscent of one who came before him, was given the wisdom and the skill he would need to reshape a galaxy, under the protective gaze of a beautiful woman whose gentle smile was like a benediction, who seldom laughed and never sang and whose lovely eyes were forever shadowed by a sadness deeper than the well of time, the last remnants of memory endured. Beyond entrances eradicated and finally buried by the ubiquitous sands, a small, glassine case still stands, cracked now and eroding, protecting only a bit of striated stone, embedded in a carved plaque.

The carving is only a scrap of poetry, slowly wearing away and soon to be illegible. Which, perhaps, given its message, is as it should be.

_One golden knight defied the storm_  
_And, in its fury, would not bend._  
_A name Fate should have carved in stone,_  
_Now gone to ashes on the wind._

_Scourged in song and cursed in rhyme,_  
_A name gone down in infamy;_  
_As others gave their lives and fell,_  
_He stood - and gave eternity._

_Lost in the dying flames of hope,_  
_A pallid joyless spirit weeps,_  
_Forever doomed to empty arms_  
_In darkest night, he sleeps._  
_He sleeps._

 

The End.


End file.
